


Accidental Time Conjunction.

by TwilightsDawn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Being an Asshole, Blood and Gore, Dark fic, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Evil Voldemort (Harry Potter), Horcrux Hunting, Horcruxes, M/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Possessive Tom Riddle, Second War with Voldemort, Time Travel, Tom Riddle Needs a Hug, Torture, Young Tom Riddle, haha another slow burn, shit hits fan fast
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:22:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 78,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26608177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwilightsDawn/pseuds/TwilightsDawn
Summary: Playing with Dark Magic was like playing with fire, sooner or later a person got burned. Tom can’t help himself, he likes the way that the matches feel in his hands. He likes the way the smoke twirls upward, the heat, the intensity. It makes him feel alive, with its promise of power and ability to wipe the slate clean. Cleanse all the things that have ever wronged him, comfort him with the knowledge what he has gained will never be taken from him. Except his wonderful fire has finally scorched his hand and sent him to an unknown future, where it's in ruin, and the person that he thought that would never betray him... has become nothing but a snake faced monster.Harry gets more than he bargained for when the Order accidentally rescues Tom Riddle on a raid. He looks just like he has stepped out of the diary and into 1998. The smug egotistical bastard... just might be the end of them all.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 120
Kudos: 415





	1. The boy and The Monster

**Author's Note:**

> ~Warnings~
> 
> I usually don't do these unless I know that what I am going to write could be disturbing for some people. I would like to say this now, there will be death, torture scenes, extreme violence, more so than my other works. I wish to explore what makes Voldemort and what makes Tom Riddle tic. So this fic earns its M rating. (probably more than my usual.) 
> 
> We go in at 100 and we keep it that way for a bit with intensity.

The first thing that he notices when he opens his eyes, is that it's far too hard to do so. His body is aching something awful, and his throat feels like he has nothing but cotton balls stuffed all the way down to his chest. It’s hard to breathe, much like the air has been knocked out of him and hard. He sucks in a few deep wheezed breaths. It's dim, not dark like the Slytherin dormitories; the ceiling is too high for that. Though its smooth stone reminds him of it. It's cracked like the orphanage ceiling. He turns his head a little and feels something damp against his cheek, thick and warm.

Mud perhaps. 

He takes a few more deep breaths, it smells of copper and the damp. He can’t remember where he is or how he has gotten to such a place. Perhaps he had been in the bomb shelter. Yes, that could explain that horrible smell. The air raids had been going on all summer. He had been trying to find something magical that he could use to protect himself outside of his wand, if he had to use it he would have been expelled with the trace. There were ways around it, but none of them were easy.

He clambers to his knees, to get off the ground, the hard cobblestone below him does not give, his back hurts, and he is grateful that there is something hard beneath him. He sits up and puts his hand to his head that feels like it's under a vice, wet clings to his face. But he doesn't care. He has no one to impress. The wet is all over him, and as his eyes adjust to the lighting all he can see is red. Red against his hand, red against his clothes. 

It's not mud… 

His mind gives him that helpful though. It's... _Blood._ He sucks in more breaths, feeling his chest tightening. It's so clear now, dark crimson covers his hands and robes. He checks over himself and he can not see any injury on him. 

If it's not his than whose was it. His head throbs with the sudden jerks he makes to look around himself. There are bodies. There must have been ten at the very least. They don’t look to be fired upon by any Muggle weapon, there are no rocks that have come from the ceiling to crush them. They are just torn apart. Women, Men, Children. They all are grotesque. Limbs missing and scattered. The boy closest to where he had been laying next to him is the main source of the blood. He is so young, the face burns itself into his head. His throat was slashed, his eyes white and his mouth open in horror. He is wearing little robes, and can’t be more than 8. His face has been horribly mutilated so there was not much of a face but the eyes and gaping mouth are there no matter how he opens and shuts his eyes. It's as if he had been ripped apart by an animal. It is more vicious than the adult woman lying beside him. His heart started to race.

He knows fear is a weakness that he can not afford to have in this situation. Fear would make him sloppy in a fight, he has to be calm. However, his heart and body completely disagrees with his mind's assessment. His nerves are sharp and his muscles tight. He stands onto shaking legs, his shoes seeping into the puddles. He tries not to think about it, the way his shoes squish. The smell gets worse the more he moves, it's nauseating. And he chokes down his own vomit as he nearly trips on a severed hand. There had to be a way out of here, but only darkness greeted him past the dim lights caused by an enchanted candle. These people were magical and the thing that had done this to them was deliberately brutal. He though can feel the fading traces of magic. Thinking of a person capable of this raises the hair on his arms and fills him with nothing but dread. 

He draws his wand, he holds it tightly as his lifeline, trying to remain just slightly panicked and not terrified as he moves more and more around the space to find an exit. He steps through a narrow opening that has bars, the smell is worse near it. It's rot and other unpleasantness. It reminds him of when he would do the soiled sheets of the younger orphans, but worse. Much worse...

The magic is strongest by the small entranceway. The wizard or witch that had caused this mess had done so very recently. Grindelwald is the only Dark wizard that he knows, but he has never read any attack that was like this. The man was crazy, he murdered a lot of people, but they had always been Muggles and it had been done in a neat fashion. Tom had never cared for Muggles. 

He comes to a staircase that leads out of the dark, he can see brighter lights, but not sunlight. There are voices that are coming from up there. They echo down to the basement, dungeon, or rather pit like place he is in. They were getting louder, and louder. 

They were coming… 

His heart thunders against his ribcage, his breathing is short as he is scared that even the slightest of sounds will alert them. There is not enough time to head back to the room, the other cells are locked and there is nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. He casts a quick disillusionment charm and ducks into the slight alcove in the wall. Begging, hoping that no one will notice him, or the small bit of magic that he just used.

Suddenly getting expelled from Hogwarts for underaged magical acts is pointless. He would much rather be alive even with his small insurances that he had made. He has no want to test to see if they work. The light is blocked by figures that start to descend the stairs. There are soft sounds of shoes clicking against the floor, they echo and are the only sound that Tom can hear besides his heart and the small breaths that he is taking. 

The first figure that seems to be leading the way in the dark, is a small man. He looked more animal than a human with the way that he was dressed and hunched in on himself. He makes a move to hold open the cell door wider for the others that are following. There is one presence that stands out. The tallest, ridged figure with billowing robes, dark, and the eyes shine blood-red against the pale face. This thing could not have been a man. He looked to be reptilian. The way that the nose was slits, there seemed to be fangs that pierced the lower lips. And those eyes, those soulless blood-red eyes-- The magic hit him with a strong wave, as he moved people followed. They hid behind his robes like children. They seemed to be waiting for any sort of movement, word, hanging onto his presence like one would wait to hear an odor from God himself. Fearful but revering. But still evenly paced and spread out they followed such a creature. They passed him and he flattened himself as close to the wall as he could: he dared not breathe, he dared not move. They all went to that larger room. 

The monstrous creature entered first cursing the man that held the door open for him as though they were nothing or the yelp of pain amused him. The others said nothing as they passed the man-animal. None were sympathetic, and none flinched He waited till the masked and robed people were all inside before slowly, untensing. His hand shook with the grip he had on his wand. He slowly started to inch his way forward. He needed to get out before that creature returned to the hall. 

"My Lord." Someone's voice echoes around the larger cell. "The prisoners they..." 

He doesn't have to see their face to know that they are horrified, perhaps some were sickenly awed by such a display of raw carnage. He knew that he was, and he had seen some of the aftermath of the Blitz. The way the voice cut off can only mean that the beast has looked at them enough to silence them. He takes another few steps forward, making it up towards stairs as the monster below answers.

"There was nothing that they could tell me, so I did away with them." The hoarse voice is the last thing he hears as he rises out of the dark. The light is not much brighter than the tunnel lined with cells. The room that it opens to is like a cellar, there are whine cases, and though it is slightly dusty it makes no hint at what is underneath. He hides behind the barrels as the rat-faced man in rags from before hovers the dead boy, his horrible face disappears up the stairs.

He waits for a beat and then moves slowly to follow him upwards. The room he enters is familiar, he has been here once before. Malfoy Manor. Of course, he had not been invited to stay long. Even if Abraxas was fond enough of him, saw him as a possible usable piece in his political and social circles his father had not thought him as anything but a MudBlood. It mattered not that he had the family ring, nor that he was descended from the great house of Slytherin, he had been looked at as if he were a smudge on a rather clean image.

What was the head of the Malfoy family doing with such a thing? Was it something that worked for Grindlewald or was it something else entirely?

He did not know and he did not care to find out. He needed to get out of here, and he had only a vague remembrance of the house.

"Wormtail left a trail of blood." He hears a female voice coming up behind him, say in disgust. He quickly vanishes his footprints that are still affected by the blood coating his shoes and moves as quickly and quietly to the side so that whoever it is can pass.

"I'll curse him later for the mess." A male voice responds. They do not take the hall that he has started to go down. He can see the long black hair of a woman and the long blond almost silver of a man's disappear around the bend. He lets out a deep breath of relief and continues to press forward. He comes across what must be one if not the main entranceway, there is a high ceiling. There are stairs that lead up to the second floor of the massive house.

He is almost there. He checks the door for enchantments, anything that might trigger some sort of alarm, but comes up with nothing. They are either too advanced for him to recognize or there is nothing but wards to bar entry to uninvited guests, not exit.

He pulls the knob and pulls the door open. The sun is so bright that it practically burns his eyes, the wind whips his brown hair into his face. The air feels so clean, so crisp. He can not help but take a few seconds to breath it in, before making haste to try and maneuver his way towards the gates or edge of the estate. 

He does everything in his power not to run such a thing would be noisy, as he gets to the edge of the property. He can feel the wards around the place strengthen, there is almost a shield around the place. It glitters many colors like a bubble in the sunlight. He can not press forward, he tries to press against the spells and the array of interwoven enchantments and it's no use.

There is no way to go forward and there is no way to go back. He hits the damn thing in frustration. It ripples but does nothing.

There's no way out, and there is no way to convince Malfoy's father to let him go, not with what he has accidentally seen and with the way that he looks. There is no way that he would believe that Tom was here to see Abraxas. He would question how he got passed the wards, to begin with. He sits, there has to be a way out of this. It's frustrating and he almost hates himself for not thinking of looking up ways to get out of similar situations. He wants to become great, and he can’t even break these slightly advanced house wards. 

‘How pathetic’ the darker voice in his head that sounds an awful lot like Mrs. Cloe whispers.

A low hissing draws his attention. A very large snake, the largest besides the Basilisk that he has ever seen, is making its way to him slowly. He does not have a great love of snakes. He can recognize them as great and fearsome predators and respect the gift that he has been given to talk with them, but he finds them to be very narrow-minded enjoying only the simplest of things like murdering small creatures. 

The massive snake continues its approach. _Small thing, run it will be more fun that way._ It rears itself preparing for a hunt.

He whips it to the side with his wand, quickly getting to his feet. The disillusionment charm breaking with his use of harsh defensive magic.

 _I won't run from a beast like you._ He hisses back with contempt.

The large black eyes of the snake seem to blink. Whatever thought that it had, is taken back by anger of being tossed. It lunged at him, fangs flashing. He managed to knock the enraged snake back again, and again. He tries to hex it but it does nothing. And despite saying he wouldn't he has no choice but to take off running. Giving it the chase that it so wanted as none of his more powerful curses seemed to impede or damage the thing. 

The only way to go up ahead was into the gardens. It was the place he knew best in the property as he wasn't welcome in the house, but the pathways seemed to have changed. It was now a maze of hedges, and thorny rose bushes that climbed up latices. He can not help but curse himself for not learning how to apparate early. Yes, it would have been illegal but at the very least he would be out of here.

He reaches a dead-end, taking his wand he slices through the hedge as he can hear the low hisses of the snake taking its time coming after him. He makes it through his opening, his eyes studying the split path before him. He comes face to face with a woman with wild black curly hair. He is hit with a hard spell that takes him off his feet. He hits the stone bench, hard with his back and it knocks the air out of him. 

"What do we have here?" The woman smiles. "A little baby snake that has lost his way." 

He sucks in a breath and glares at her and just manages a Protego the shield deflects the red hex. 

"Oh. " Her smile faults for a split second, as she seemed disappointed that her spell had failed. Not even seconds later she was smiling even larger. "Little Snake wants to play.

"Not really." He grits, blocking another unfriendly spell and another. The woman is relentless. He is strong but he is no match for this crazed woman, that acts like the few powerful hexes she has brushed off and dodged were nothing. Even though they were sure to nearly gut her if he got a clean hit. If anything the slight cut from one of them whizzing by her makes her more alive. He can hardly get a second to attempt to use some of the most powerful curses that he knows. He wants nothing but to kill her, bust such a task is proving to be frustratingly difficult. 

Reflecting on it, he really needed better dueling partners than those that were in his circle and year. 

"Well It seems my master's calling, all good things must end ducky." She stills and he tries to catch his breath, shield charm at the ready only for it to shatter instantly as the curse lands. 

“Curcio.”

There is no way to prepare one's self for the unforgivable. No way to build a tolerance, there is a reason that it was a one-way ticket to Azkaban and why he had studied it. But it is a lot less fascinating when you were on the receiving end of it. He writhes on the ground as it feels like he is burning, that his bones are all being broken and pounded into dust, hundreds of knives are stabbing him. It's hot searing pain. He can't think, he can't do anything but scream. He doesn't know how long it lasts, it feels like it has been an eternity. When it stops all he can do is breath, and let a few pathetic tears drip from his eyes. Everything hurts, his body still trembles with after effect. 

"Get up, now. I need to take you with me." The woman bends near him, she says it cheerfully as if she hadn't been just torturing him. He swears in that moment that if he gets the chance he will kill her. "We need to find who you belong to and give you back to them."

Her eyes travel from his face to the wand in his hand. Her eyes then harden and all the fake warmth leaves them. "How did you get this?" She prys it from his fingers that are still curled around what had been his lifeline. Her curved wand presses hard against his cheek, a small cut formed causing it to bleed. 

"It's mine. I bought it at Olivanders when I was 11." He has not the strength to argue and there is no point in lying. 

"Liar." She hissed in his ear, yanking him up by his hair. Her anger doesn’t bode well with him. He takes one look at the wands in her hand and tackles her. A complete Muggle like action but she is not as adept at fighting this way. Most Wizards weren't. He fights to keep her hand down. Her enraged face, giving way to one that shows just a small semblance of fear as he successfully starts to pin her to the ground. She thrashed, and precedes to bite his arm, hard enough to draw blood, and uses his slight movement to get his arm free of her mouth to get her hand pointed right with another curse. This one feels like the worst slap to the face he has been given. She then hits him with an imperious. 

His head feels foggy, he tries to fight the nice feeling, but can't. With all the pain and adrenaline pumping through his veins, just walking doesn't seem so bad. No matter how he tries to stop himself from walking forward, no matter how he attempts to dig his feet into the ground, he staggers forward. Step by miserable step he makes his way back into the house. The fog lifts and all the pleasantness dies as the curse is removed and he stands in a large room that seems to be acting almost like a throne room. The Creature from before is sitting on a large wooden chair, its thin fingers wrapped around the edge of the arms. They tap boredly, against the black polish end. When it sees him it's eyes widen, making them even more like red headlights. He meets that gaze, red pools with no pupil, red like fresh blood. 

"I brought you something, my Lord." The woman kneels before him and hits him with a spell that forces him to the floor as well. She holds up his wand as an offering.

The thing produces his own wand, he looks at it and then over at the one that is being held out to him, and to his horror, they are the same. He turns the wand over in his hands a few times. 

"Where did you find our guest, Bella?" The reptile-like man finally speaks. 

"I followed your wonderful familiar my lord. She didn't want the bodies went for something fresh I think, followed him all the way to the boundary wards." 

There is a slight quirk of the creature's thin lips. "You may go, for now, I would like to have words with the boy."

Even in his near delirious state being called that is no less demeaning. He can only glare as the force is still pressing his knees into the hardwood. The pressure of which was starting to become very uncomfortable. The pressure leaves him and he is able to stand. He glances around the room, seeing if there is any way to go. Not that running would do him much good. The thing had his wand.

“It would be unwise to run.” The thing spoke as if reading his mind. The pale hand turned his wand over again. A look of contempt on his face. “Now tell me, and answer me honestly. I will know if you lie. Who are you.” It all but hissed. 

“I am Tom Riddle.” He says with all the confidence and boldness that he can muster swallowing all fear. He refused to be weak, the thing's face was too close, it disgusted him and terrified him for reasons that he can not fathom. 

The monster pressed against his mind’s shields, hard and stronger than any that he had ever felt before. Even with the slight probes that Dumbledore had tried. He gives in as the push starts to cause a slight ache in his head. Memories flood past even his own shut eyes. 

``` He is standing in the many lines of children, looking the best he can with a small smile. His tiny hands at his sides. The woman that is holding onto her husband pauses by him, and he feels his heart skip a beat. Only for her to shake her head.```

```There is an old man sitting on his bed, smiling at him slightly. “I’m like you Tom, I’m different.” The wardrobe is then burning, and all he can do is smile slightly at the thought of being different. No, not different _special_ ```

```He is walking in Diagon Alley. It’s wonderful and new. It's the first time that he has ever found himself to be really Happy.```

``` He is in potions class and Black calls him a Mudblood. The stir rod in his hand cracks with the pressure he puts on it slicing his hand.```

Memories all of them are flashed through quickly and harshly and then the being exits his mind rather cleanly. He is peering down at him now. He jumps by the closeness, and the thing laughs at his fear. 

“So you are.” It turns from him. “I thought it was another stunt by that boy and his followers to try and fool my servants. Some of them can be indescribably dim-witted. But alas you are the real thing.” He turns back to him, eyes blazing. “I am quite honored.” 

The laugh is nothing but cruel, cold, and malicious. It irritated him, the blatant belittlement. His hand tightened around his robe. The man notices his anger and seems even more inclined to rub salt in the wounds.

“Oh, did I offend you?” 

He can do nothing about the disrespect, for there is nothing for him to say or do. The thing is much more powerful than he is. He can feel the dark magic radiating off of it, he had felt it in his mind, the idea sickens him.

“Who are you?” He finally demands because certainly, he should have known about this creature, this demon.

The devil smiles at him, a real smile. “You don’t know, and here I thought you to be far smarter than that.” 

He could do without the taunting. He stands still as it circles him.

“How old are you now? Almost full-grown. Last year of Hogwarts perhaps?” It circles him like a shark teeth bared and eyes taking him in. 

He shakes his head.

“No? Sixth year then.” 

Tom shakes his head slowly. 

“A Fifth-year then and you still can’t figure it out?” He tilts his head. “I’ll give you a hint, you must already know the name.” He leans in to Tom’s personal space again. _“Voldemort.”_

He freezes. “How do you know that name?” He demands, forgetting himself. 

That laugh again, but this time it's louder and longer.

“No.” He utters. It dawns on him, the same wand, him knowing immediately who he was from the memories…

“Yes.” He hisses in his ear, and Riddle recoils. “It is my name, my glorious name. A name that all fear to speak even the most devoted. This is not the world you knew is it, you left that behind however it is that you managed to end up in my time is irrelevant. I am your future.”

Tom feels his chest tighten. “It can't be true.” He doesn’t realize that he has said it out loud till that snake face is closer than ever to him.

“But it is.” The Dark Lord grabs him hard by the arm, the thin fingers tightening on his wrist to the point of bruising. “You are nearing your coming of age. I know what you have done. I know what you will do in the name of power and vengeance. I don’t blame you for killing them, I delighted in it. Such dreams we share.”

“We’re nothing alike.” Tom tries to pry himself loose. 

“No?” Voldemort chuckles darkly. “Well, perhaps not yet. I can not blame a child for lacking the proper vision. A weak child still burdened with that wretched Muggle name, you have dreamt of a world where you were no longer at the bottom of the pyramid. Things are ready in your time to topple, all you have to do is push in order to claim it.”

“The push is not worth the ramifications.” Tom spits at him. 

“You will come to learn in time, grow to be more daring, less cowardly of things of the dark.” He can hardly feel his fingers, the vice on his arm is so tight. “In order to achieve greatness one has to make sacrifices.” 

“Nothing about what you have shown me seems great. You have only fear, to guide your followers and death coating your hands, black magic that has taken near everything human about you.” The hand lets go of his wrist only to jam itself under his neck lifting him off the ground and choking him, till his eyes water. “I am you,'' He manages to wheeze out.

Voldemort drops him hard to the title floor where he takes great pleasure in filling his lungs again with precious oxygen. “I'm you and yet you insist on causing me pain?” Tom manages once he has caught his breath. 

“You have been nothing but disrespectful to me.” Voldemort leers. “The mere sight of you makes me near murderous all you serve is proof of how weak and pathetic I once was. You being here and us in the same room is near proof that I don’t need you.” 

Tom stares completely lost for words. “You are mad.” He shakes his head. “I will never become you.” 

He is thrown across the room with a flick of the other’s hand. 

“Careful.” His future self warns. “I am not a merciful Lord and you are testing my patience.” The monster plays with the wand again putting pressure at the tip of it. “Still you're not without promise, you are me after all, even if you are inadequate at the moment.” 

“Master.” The animal-like man barges in, but when he sees the way that Tom is laying on the ground in a heap, and his master is looking nothing but murderous, he looks like he wants nothing more than to duck back out. Live another day despite his error.

“While I am displeased to be interrupted Wormtail, at least you came at a decent time. Take him.” He gestures with the wand, “to the dungeons I will deal with him later. Bella and I have other more pressing matters to attend to.”

The last thing that Tom sees before going back into the dark dungeons from where he had arrived in this time is those burning red eyes and a somewhat please smile to have 2 of the exact same wands.


	2. Testing Resolve

Darkness. He knows it well, in his many younger years of life, Cloe had locked him away from the sun. Her favorite punishment was locking children up in the attic. It was cold up there in the winter, and far too warm in the summer. It leaked when it rained hard enough and the only company was unwanted as the spiders and other bugs that would crawl and creep across his body. She probably delighted in the fear that came with being shoved into that cramped inky prison. He had stopped fearing the dark and wet when he was 6. He figured if the monsters did exist that they would have come and gobbled him up long ago. No, it just became a place that was far too dusty and warm or cold for his liking. He would be trapped hours in there with nothing to do but breathe in the mold and cough quietly to himself. Sometimes when it was a partially hot day, he thought he would pass out from how little that he could breathe. 

This was very much like those times in the orphanage. Where all he had was his thoughts to keep him company, the freezing air, and the dark. This time though there was a real monster lurking in it. Waiting for when it would be best to attack him, make him suffer, or just finally kill him. After hours on top of hours sitting there, braced against the wall, he almost felt insulted that his future self had seemed to have forgotten about him, not that he wants that disgusting face anywhere near him nor there to torment him. 

Things could be worse, those were always fateful words, but Tom had always liked to think of it as things could always be better. For even if his cell didn't have a body in it there was still blood and other substances that he did not want to think about in the far corner. So if that wasn’t there lofting a nauseating smell into his nose every time the draft decided to make itself known things could be a lot better. He would say in the best case scenario he got out of this mess only slightly harmed.

He can’t sleep, his mind keeps bringing him in circles. What possibly could he have done that turned him into that thing? Where had it all gone wrong and was it avoidable? Considering that he knew a bit about his future now, there was the argument that he would do his best not to fall into that pit. There however was the argument that could also be made that by trying to avoid it that he would make everything worse. That had always been the problem with prophecy and fortune-telling, there were always loopholes and ways that things could go wrong.

Was this his fate, for doing some of the things he had, his small taste of the Dark had driven him to create more than the two Horcruxes that he had? He doesn't have the ring, his finger feels almost empty without it. He had always desired power, recognition, but what he had become _Voldemort_ Was simply put insane and its actions from what he was starting to gather were just simply thoughtless and violent. Tom had always detested foolish and ill-planned ideas. Oh had the tables turned, as it was his own meddling with things that he collected from the room of requirements that might have landed him here, in this time... whenever that time was.

He would not become this thing, he had lost his way somewhere, but he would not stumble this time around. Not when he has a glimpse of what will happen to him if he does. He resolved right then and there to never allow for it to happen.

He leaned his head onto his knees seeking something that was decently soft to rest his head-on.

His main concern was figuring out exactly what caused him to end up in this time, and then undoing it to send himself back. Of the little bit, he knows of time travel the problem had always been jumping forward. One could not easily get back to their own future time if they were stranded in the past. The past the longer a person was in it, caused all sorts of time anomalies and took a toll on a person's body. As he is in the future the only actions that he can take will affect the present ones. He can not stop a person from being born and throwing off the whole future time frame.

He considered the magical artifacts he had been toying with. He had been fascinated by a small and strange necklace with an unusual pendant. An hourglass that turned but only slightly. He had taken it with the need to know more about it, and he cursed his curiosity now. It was probably what brought him here. That was what he got for wanting apparently more than what he had. A small edge of power was what he was looking for not Temporal displacement. If the necklace was responsible it did not matter now as in his time shift, the artifact had not shifted with him. It had disappeared and since it was not on his person it was useless to him. How stupid of him, how utterly ridiculous. He had condemned himself both in his own time and now in this one in the form of a snake faced lunatic.

He finally gave in to his bodies aching and laid down onto the stone floor. Its chill touches his cheek and he closes his eyes. He can hardly keep them open, but each small sound is enough to wake him. small muffled screams of other 'guests'. The air moving through pipes, and the creaks of the gates.

More hours pass and it all feels pointless. His musings, his thoughts hardly mattered there was no way out of this. His older self was the one that held all the cards. He had to wait for the slim chance of an opportunity to present itself. He had no magic, or at least nothing powerful enough to break the enchantments. Without a wand there was no hope to get out, the cell kept reminding him more and more of Wool's _Hopeless_ Where he was no stronger than a child.

Time passes slowly, he can not remember the last time that he has eaten or drank anything. He feels weak, powerless, useless. Perhaps that was what the monster wanted him to feel. He won't give the last of his pride up. There are very few things that he has left and his dignity is one of them. He will not beg for anything, nor will he show any other weaknesses. Even if his body betrayed him. He still had resolve.

It's when he is slightly delirious from lack of everything a growing body needed that he hears the distinct sound of footsteps. He slowly lifts himself off of the ground to face the creature, he can feel it before he sees any sign of it. It has such a dark aura that it is impossible not to notice. It is like a magnet, both drawing as it is powerful, but repelling because of the repulsive acts that would have been needed to become so unnatural.

"My most esteemed guest." The raspy voice drifted through the darkness and the bars. He is only able to see the other because of those eyes, like an animal they reflect the very dim lighting of the open door. He makes no move from his sitting position. "I trust that you are most comfortable?"

He wonders if his sense of humor gets worse in his old age as the thing smiles at him as if he should find it humorous too.

"Do you intend to keep me here till I rot?" He dodges saying anything that he will come to regret. He might hate insults, and being looked down on, but he is smart enough to know when he is for sure bested. 

"Perhaps." Voldemort draws the word out. "for now I am content to observe you." He draws closer to him. Tom refuses to shrink away, even with the way that he looks. Even with the way it smiles at him. "You haven't even tried to escape. I find myself disappointed."

"It is not worth the energy to struggle, we both know that it's pointless." He keeps eye contact.

"Ha." Voldemort hisses. "Not very spirited are you? No, I don't think it would even be mildly entertaining to crush you." Tom can see his wand in the pale hands. He watches it for a moment before bringing his eyes back to the thing's face. "I know that it's this you desire, why not attempt to take it?"

It's Tom's turn to laugh, the action ends in coughs as his throat is dry, and dislikes the effort that he is putting into talking alone. "So that you can curse me? No thank you."

"I could curse you regardless." It tilts its head. "You really are boring. It is no wonder that you have yet to dream of limitless power like you see before you."

"I see no such thing, there is a very big difference between power and Madness." A cold hand grips his face as hardly a figure of a man squeezes it just slightly, studying him. Nothing but twisted anger burns in those red eyes.

"They are not so different, you only lack vision enough to see. I have done things that others can only dream of, what others considered to be madness has brought me clarity that no one else can see. I have become unkillable, though I have faced death twice."

"If no one else can see your vision, then you truly have succumbed to insanity." Tom matches his tone. His future self decides to throw him into the opposite side of his cell and away from himself. "Don't try and play games with me." He comes at him again walking over to where Tom has hit hard and banged his head into the stone, he can feel blood dripping down his temple.

White bone hands brush the hair out of his face and digs his nails into the bloody wound created. "I have outgrown my patience for your insolence and your weakness."

"And I have outgrown playing games with the sort that can't tell when they are too far gone to note they have started down a path that can only lead to destruction. You might not be able to die but who is to say that you will not complete another ritual and come to a worse fate as the price you have to pay for that power is too steep."

"I suppose that we are at an impasse then." Voldemort released his head to look at the blood staining his pale hand.

"Are you going to kill me then?" Tom feels the rage in him die, and a coil of dread enters his stomach. He had a feeling it would be this outcome. It is not exactly what he wanted, but he has built assurances in his own time, perhaps this is the one way to return.

"Soon." He wipes the blood onto his cloak. "I must make sure there is nothing that ties you to me first. As we exist here and now at the same time, and I have my own set of memories of how things turned out after my fifth year. I think that it is rather clear that I don't need someone that is so defenseless and pathetic."

"Don't attempt to belittle me." Tom glared at him, hoping that the other can feel his loathing down to his very core. "The very thought of what I become sickens me."

He is whipped to the other side of the cell crashing into this time the metal bars, with the simple flick of the monster's wrist. He collapses down it with dull pain echoing through his bones. He lets out soft breaths, to control the amount of pain that he showed. His hand is stomped on and Voldemort hisses words that he can not hear, and he can feel as if someone is carving lines into any area of exposed skin and then even under the remnants of his robes. He bites his lip hard to keep from screaming. It muffles horrible little gasps and one pathetic whimper. And forever and more later the pain stops, his hair is clinging to his head from the blood of his head wound. His already blemished skin, littered with more wounds. He was exhausted and he felt as if he was close to passing out, he was hardly keeping himself on his knees. But he did not cower even as the white wand is raised again and is pointed at his face. He refused.

All he had was his pride after all, even at Wools.

"You are not perhaps without potential." Voldemort seems to have calmed by taking his anger out on him and perhaps is slightly pleased by Tom's resolve not to beg, and not to scream. "Yet the sight of you displeases me so."

"Why not finish it then," Tom demands. He finds that being a punching bag is far less of a favorable fate than just dying."

"You have a death wish don't you?" Voldemort shakes his head, disappointedly. "I can not say that I myself ever had it."

"If all that I have to look forward to is you, then I see no reason to limp along." He can't hold himself anymore, he just collapses onto the dirty cell, knowing that all the cuts would absorb the filth and become infected lacerations. Even with such an action, he shifts himself enough to be propped into the corner, he doesn't break eye contact once he has stabilized himself there. 

"A waste." The last flick of his wand, makes his mouth erupt with blood. He chokes on it, gagged, and vomited it out across the cell floor. His breathing was near impossible. He sucks in wheezed, labored breaths. Still, there is nothing to give, he can't get enough air, no matter how he gasps and attempts to force it through his wide and bloodied mouth. Voldemort laughs at him, it's without humor cold and bitter. He leaves him there, in a pool of his own blood. To die or to struggle on for however long he has left.

He awakes there on the cold but sticky floor and tries to move, tries to sit up but only feels the most agony that he has ever felt in his life, rip its way through and across his chest. He hisses, gasps, and sucks in air that feels as if it burns with every attempt at a breath. He wipes at his face with the tatters of his robe to get the blood away from his left eye that feels like it is almost stuck closed. He heaves himself into the corner bracing again, everything against the stone. This lightens his breathing, but only just. He wonders if or when that scaly disgusting creature will be back. He shuts his eyes, sucking in breaths. Unwanted tears streaming down his cheeks. Yes, perhaps death would be kinder.

After a while, he thinks to check with his tongue if there is any damage to his teeth and gums considering that he had vomited blood. He has a very awful feeling that he is dealing with a punctured lung, but he could have been missing a tooth or something the way he was thrown around. It seems though that the blood is more on the inside, causing issues than on the outside as his other cuts have seemingly started to scab over. He would have even more of a hard time now making an opening for escape. No there really couldn't be a chance of that anymore.

There was no sound around him, it's been silent for hours now. He wonders if the other prisoners' cells are spelled to make as little noise as possible, or if they were given the proper welcome to the dungeons that he was. Nothing like a punctured lung to make a person quiet. Crying or anything would just have hurt his breathing even more.

Solitude.

He cradles his probably broken wand hand and falls into another fitful sleep, unable to move well without pain burning and surging up his right side. He did his best though to relax, rest. He banished thoughts of escape, he was not optimistic about his chances. Time crawled worse than before until he finally heard the unlocking of his cell. He opens his eyes and can see the rat-faced man he drops a cup to the floor and something else. He closes his eyes again.

Sustenance, the monster knew he was still hanging on by a thread then. He waits till the footsteps are long gone before moving, he regrets the action near instantly. however the idea of water clearing the taste of copper from his mouth and the endless feeling of dryness he will take the chance. It could be poison or drugged, but he is at the point of near desperation so he will risk it.

He drinks quickly, even though he tries to convince his trembling hands that slowly is his best option. He can't make himself eat the bread. He tries and takes a small amount but feels the instant need to spit it out. It's too hard to chew and he can't swallow it.

He shifts to the other corner beside the door. It is far easier than attempting to crawl back to the other side.

He wonders if the rat will come back for the glass and if he will take note that Tom has not eaten. Would that be enough to cause his future self to return? He can practically hear its mocking hiss. 'What food not to your liking?' 

He would have been content to sleep again if he did not hear loud clicking of shoes and the sound of something being dragged. He peers out of the bars, turning himself slowly, not enough to do much other than catch a quick glance of a man in rags moving with the woman that he had been torture cursed by. 

So another new arrival. Least the person wasn't making much sound, silence helped with his throbbing headache rather nicely.

"In you go Moony." The woman mocked and there is nothing but a loud grunt and the slamming of the cell door echoing down the passageway. Bella paused by his cell he said nothing to her and only half-heartedly glared, she was hardly worth the effort. She smiled at him as if she was visiting an old friend.

"Red might be your color, my dear." She says presently. 

He doesn't react and when she doesn't get anything from him she huffs and hits him with a stinging hex before leaving that does nothing but send a very small ache to his cheek. He is just grateful that she didn't hit him in the ribs. He can just make out 'Moony' if he leans forward slightly and rests his head on the bars. The man is shaking something awful, it might have been the aftereffect of being hit one too many times with the torture curse, he was cold, or he was just that scared. Tom would take a wild guess and say that it was a combination of all 3. Eventually watching the other gets boring and he just went back to fixing his eyes ahead, seeing but unfocused his mind completely empty.

He was sleeping again when he heard a noise, unlike any that he had heard drifting down the corridors. The sound is so loud that it seems to echo, and the force of it shakes the bars and the stone around him. He is alert now, watching as light bursts from the darkness, it pours over the inky halls and people rush past him. Faces he does not know but knew were not followers of the monster. He is never so glad to see other people. There are orders barked and a frantic display of actions. Gates being opened in loud explosions, prisoners being freed. Ragged disheveled faces are passing him and there is the cracking of appreciation and loud pops as more and more people vanish. 

He just manages to his feet to grab at a passing person's robe. "Please..." His voice nearly fails him. "Don't leave me..." He can't finish the statement. The man with a horribly scarred face his strange blue eyes darts from his face to the remains of his robes. He starts to pull away, making to leave him. He tugs harder as Tom tightens his grip in desperation. This man is his only hope.

"Please..." He barely is able to utter. 

The man jerks away from him, as a young woman rushes towards his side, her vibrant pink hair is like nothing that he has ever seen. Her eyes widen as she sees him.

"He is a Slytherin." The gruff voice of the man says as if this answers the woman's question and justifies leaving him to torture and to die. The woman looks again between the two of them. "He could be one of their kids."

"Don't be an idiot, even if he was, look at him." She retorted, holding up her want. "Get back!" She orders him. He doesn't have to be told twice, he moves the best he can to the side and the door flies off of its hinges slamming into the back of the cell. He is yanked forward and forced to run with the one that argued for him. She holds tight to his elbow and forces him forwards. She is the only reason that he is not on the ground, he feels blood threatening to come out of his mouth again, as there is a horrible pain in his side that is unbearable. He can not stop though. She pulls on another person that is falling behind. They burst through the barriers appearing in the cellar again.

He can see the creature. He is throwing curses at a few of the fleeing people, Tom manages to, unfortunately, make eye contact as he dissipates. A curse aimed right at them that never got the chance to reach, green, the spell of death. The force of the violent apparition makes his ears and head pound. The woman loses her footing as they touch down in a grassy field somewhere. All 3 of them topple and unlike the others, Tom does not get up right away. He lays there in the tall wet grass, feeling like he will never be able to get enough air, blood drips out of his open mouth.

"We can't stay here." Says the gruff voice from before. "Get up people."

Tom can't, he has nothing left. He tries to say something and all that comes out is a choked rasp. He is hefted to his feet, the boy that does this action is the other that was grabbed onto for falling behind. He looks at him with the greenest eyes that he has ever seen, they are not at all hidden behind the round thick lenses only seemingly intensified. They look at him in confusion, as if he can not place the other. Disheveled black hair gets worse with the quick shaking of his head. This close he can watch the boy's reaction in real-time.

Shock.

Realization.

Immense Anger.

He’s seen that all before he almost can smile at it. 

He lets go and Tom topples right back down to the ground, with not as much of a sound as a pained whimper. Others are coming over as the boy certainly looks alarmed enough to warrnet it. His vision is blurring. His chest is burning. 

"Riddle." The boy spat the word like it is the worst name in existence and to Tom it really was. It was his wretched father's name. 

He would laugh if he could, perhaps he really was going to die. Die here and now in this sort of manner. There is a buzz of voices demanding to know what that meant, none probably knew the name Riddle but were familiar with the other name that the boy speaks. "Voldemort." 

He sees the slight outline of a wand. 

"Harry." A soft voice warned. The boy, Harry, stepped away. He knows that voice. He hated that voice, even if now with it seeming like the only thing that is keeping him from being tortured or hexed, he still can not help but hate it.

Dumbledore...

Whatever the man attempts to say after that fades to nothing but static. 

~/*\~

He wakes in a room, that is not the cell, nor dorms, nor wools. The ceiling is painted white, and there are no signs of any cracking or peeling. There is a soft light that streams from behind thick green curtains. For the briefest of moments, he thinks perhaps he is in the hospital wing, that everything he has seen is some sort of horrible fever dream and that things are going to be normal again any second. 

The second that he moves though there is that searing pain and he closes his eyes as tightly as he can make them so as not to cry. His head burns, thick bandages have been wrapped around his arms, all the way down to his fingers. it is not pleasant. 

"Take this." A voice he doesn't recognize tells him harshly, "It will help with the pain." 

He doesn't make a move for it, his fingers brushing at the vial and falling back against the pillows. 

~/*\~

He is forced to drink the potion after that, it numbs some of the pain, but he feels nothing but aches and wishes, wishes to be asleep, but there must have been something besides a numbing potion in there because he is stuck awake.

A face greets him, they have aged but they are familiar as ever. He peers over half-moon spectacles, eyes as judgemental as ever. 

"Dumbledore..." He manages. 

"Tom." The other greets almost sullenly. Tom's eyes travel to a few other people in the room that have their wands seconds away from being drawn. The boy with green eyes seems to stare into his very soul. His eyes drift back to Dumbledore. 

"May I?" Dumbledore gently touches his temple. Tom hardly feels it under the bandages. It's funny how much that slight gesture of pity sent his way, hurts more than the disgust on his present self's face, or all the harsh blows he had over the course of his life.

He doesn't want the other to, but it would be the fastest, the surest way to make them aware that he is not a threat to them. 

He just nods, feeling his memories shift as the old man looks for the truth. He watches again himself be tortured and feels nothing. The old man actually takes a step back away from him, casting him another look that Tom hates, and adverts his gaze away from. 

"This boy is not a threat to us." The few people in the room, the very scarred man, and the woman with strange hair nod in acceptance. "He is the real Tom from 1944." 

That causes some looks and not wanting to see them any longer. He doesn't want to look at the boy Harry and the way that he bristled, watching him closely as if he will get out of bed and do something unthinkable. If he could he would perhaps have gotten out of bed and... 

"Tom." Dumbledore tries to draw his attention back to him. "I need you to tell me everything." 

He chuckles without warmth, then, coughs and feels again like he is dying despite the potion working its way through his system. He shuts his eyes. "You looked into my head, what else do you need to know." He manages, talking makes him feel weak, faint even. 

"Albus." An older red-headed woman's voice cuts in. "perhaps the questioning can wait." 

She is sent a dark look by the scarred man. "It comes out now while he still has life left in him."

"Calm yourself Alastar, perhaps Mrs. Weasely is correct." Dumbledore holds up a hand and then turns back to Tom. "I fear that he showed no restraint, even towards you, do you know besides the lacerations what he did to you." 

Tom can't risk laughing at that, of course, he knew, the old coot should too. He had watched it happen. "He did internal damage, I think collapsed my right lung." 

The only one to look concerned for him is Mrs. Weasley and Dumbledore. Harry had a judgemental look on his face. He rolls his eyes as if he would fake having that sort of injury for pity points. He could care less about their pity, even if it probably was the main reason they hadn't finished what Voldemort started. 

"You will then for sure need medical attention, I am no healer, but I can send for someone." He ran his wand over him, and Tom eyed it with envy. He wanted his wand back. "I do fear that there is quite a bit of damage."

'Never would have guessed it.' He thought bitterly, reminded again why he hated the other so greatly in his own time. Though he nodded simply with disinterest. There was a girl about his age trying to peek into the room, she caught him staring and seemed to whimper ducking back behind the wooden edge and out of sight. Redheaded, probably just like her mother. Usually, he found people's instant fear of him to be humorous or exhilarating, however, he knows that the main reason that she is scared of him, is purely because of the manic that was running around passing out killing curses as if they were a cheering charm. He can't find joy in it no matter how he wishes it. It's not his own earned respect, after all, just borrowed. 

"Who are these people?" He asks finally and perhaps stupidly because half of them seem to be underage and the rest of them look like they are just a bunch of parents. They are not soldiers, they aren't warriors, and they certainly seem scared of him and he is only 16, just turned it.

"These people are members of the Order of the Phoenix, they are one of the last stands against Voldemort and his followers. You will have to forgive me, but I don't have time at the moment to introduce all of them to you. For now, rest, and we shall see about finding a healer. When you're in a little better shape well talk about more pressing matters."

He's tempted to just say no, I'll get this over with now, but to his humiliation, he is so tired that all he wants to do is sleep again. He can help but notice, the ring on Dumbledore's near dead-looking hand. 

~/*\~

He wakes to an older woman that is hanging curtains around his bed like he is ever going to receive real privacy. The bandages are in slightly different places so they must have been changed. He holds his hand up slightly so that he can look at the Damage.

"Good you are awake." The woman stands closer to him. "I can give you a proper look over." 

Again he is reminded how much he wants a wand as she runs hers over him a few times. "Indeed a punctured lung." She mutters to herself. "Broken rib-sticking right up against it. This will not do... not at all." 

She casts a few spells over him and he hisses as there is the sound of bone against bone being snapped back into place.

"You're a tough one, most would just have screamed." She smiles slightly over her thick glasses. Her aged face looks somewhat familiar, though he can not place it. 

"What is the year." He asks her because she probably will not be as guarded with information.

"What year is it? she chuckles like he has told the funniest joke she has ever heard. “You were not out that long boy.” 

He grits his teeth mentally but manages to smile nicely. "Humor me." 

“Very well it's 1997.”

He shuts his eyes and laughs, laughs at the irony and horror of it all. Perhaps this was how he went crazy. He has jumped nearly a lifetime into the future nearly 53 years depending on the date. The world has truly changed and he is stuck in some apocalyptic world of his own making. Muggles didn't bring the magical world to its knees with bombs and other horrors as he imagined. Their viciousness he had always thought rivaled the Wizard kind but he was wrong. The biggest threat to them was apparently his insane self. He laughs himself till it hurts again even with the potion. She looks at him concerned that perhaps he has let himself do such an action in his wounded state, it's just he doesn't feel as much in pain anymore, breathing is better. 

“I am glad you find what I said to be humorous.” She cuts him off. “But what you shouldn't find funny is the amount of damage is to your lung, you are going to need to take a whole bunch of potions to help heal that and the wounds that are already showing signs of infection. You're in a rough one, Mr. Riddle.”

“I already knew that,'' he says drily. He has been in a rough one since the moment he was born, perhaps he was cursed. That would make things even more twisted and fun. 

“Hand please.” She takes the bandaged mess in her hand and runs her wand over it. “This will take a bit and there might be lasting damage.”

He added that to reasons that he wanted to kill his future self but said nothing. There is the creaking of old floorboards. 

“If you can laugh perhaps you can answer some of my questions.” Dumbledore moves a few of the curtains. 

“He needs to rest Albus.” 

“Talking will not be so strenuous with the potions.” The older man disagrees. 

“Limited people in the room than while you have this conversation.” The old woman says tersely. “I still have to heal his hand. 

“Of course.” The old man caves to her words. Tom hasn’t seen him do that to anyone that wasn’t Dippit. He transfigures himself a chair and sits, and watches as the healer goes about setting the bones right again. It hurts something awful, but he does not complain even though at times he wants to pull away from her hold and does slightly as his body just reacts and wants to get away from the pain. When she is finished she instructs him what potions he will take and when. She sees herself out and as she leaves two other people join the room just as before the woman, Molly, and the scarred man Alaster. They are accompanied by one more. The one called ‘Moony’ Tom looks at him much like he did when they had met eyes in the dungeons. He has little doubt that these are the people that will help to decide his fate. 

“I promise to make introductions in a short while. Right now I want to discuss your circumstances as I have seen your memories. I know that you have no desire to return to Voldemort.”

Tom glares at him. “I will not go back.” He would rather die. The image of those red eyes looking into his as he squeezed his face, makes his body give a small tremble. “Kill me if you must, but don’t send me back.” He says it a little more firmly. 

Dumbledore smiles at him sadly, “None of that Tom, no one here will attempt such a thing. ln, this time you will find that you are either with or against Voldemort, judging by your reaction and the state you were found in, I would say you chose the latter. To send you out into the world as you are now would be a death sentence.” 

Tom bites hard the inside of his lip, he knows that to be the case. He knows his older self wants to kill him. He knows how little value the other saw him as. 

“I would say that your only option is to stay here at the moment as without a wand, injured as you are, there is nowhere else for you to go. That places you here to heal, and thus on our side. I would ask that you remain here as this is headquarters and once you are up and about, keeping the location secret is the top priority.”

“Is it wise to keep me here?” Tom can't help but blink. 

“You face no other option, unarmed, in a time that you don’t understand with possible enemies at every turn. Ones that would be very happy to return you to Voldemort, who rest assured will kill you. If you are to remain here, I may be able to assist you in finding your way back to your own time. I would not feel right damning you to such a fate.”

“Let him be damned.” The scarred man interrupts. “We know what he becomes. We have all seen it, experienced loss because of him.” 

Dumbledore heaves a mighty sigh ignoring the man. “Do you give me your word to stay Tom so that I can help you?”

“Why?” Tom spits.

Dumbledore is not taken back by his anger, he seems to expect it and waits for him to elaborate.

“Why care if I die. You never liked me, you hated me...” He hisses. 

‘You made me go back to the muggles every year, you sent me back to a war zone, a recruiting war zone, to die.’ He leaves the thought unfinished. The nearby clock shakes and the face cracks. 

“Lower your wands.” Dumbledore glares at Alister and the black-haired boy from before that has managed to slip into the room. “I don’t hate you, Tom, I never have.”

Tom wants to call him a liar. He wants to curse him for daring to look at him as if he is some pitiful creature that he can somehow coddle and fix, make him be the ‘good’ person that he always was trying to push and shove him into a box to be. He knows there is nothing good about Dumbledore, nothing heroic, he plays the manipulation game as well as anyone, and he had judged Tom the moment he saw him at 11 years old. _Evil._

“Just let him get himself killed.” Harry glares at him, looks at him with the most contempt that he has ever seen. He matches that look, he did not know him and he looks at him like that and even with the anger he feels at the boy that no doubt is his age, he feels almost drawn to him, strangely. “It will save us all a lot of trouble as Moody said. If he dies perhaps all the things that have happened won't come to pass.”

“Harry.” Dumbledore says sharply, “If both Tom and Voldemort can exist in the same time, then killing him would do nothing to change the present. Whatever has caused the displacement and anomaly that has brought Tom here is completely separate then the passage of time that created the version of him that becomes Voldemort.” He had been putting a lot of thought into this. 

“He said something similar.” Tom decides to back it up with what his older self had said for some semblance of looking like he was collaborating and at least somewhat useful. He is sure that was the only reason that Dumbledore was defending him, he wanted something from him and as long as Tom was a ‘good boy’ and played along he would be safe.

“He is not yet of age yet.” Dumbledore prattles on. “He has not done anything yet that merits death. It is important that we do not follow Voldemort's lead of seeing things as only black or white, light, and dark. I would be keen to remind everyone here that the world functions in shades of gray and that we are both capable of good and evil. As long as Tom puts in the effort to actively change, so if he returns to his time this does not occur, I will help him. Just as I have always done for any that have come to Hogwarts.”

He lowered his gaze to the sheets, the patterns on them suddenly have become very interesting. “It does not matter if I try to change they do not want me here.” 

“Damn straight,” Moody mutters. “What are you even doing? Albus reaching out a hand to a monster like him.”

Tom stiffens, that word is not one that he wants to think of. He sees red eyes, no pupils. And grips at his sheets hard with his good hand. 

“I am thinking that Tom has not done anything that you are damning him for. Those deaths, acts of senseless violence and horror, are Voldemorts and Voldemort's alone. He is not a monster yet, only a boy. A boy that needs our help and guidance as boys often do. What would we do if we cast all people that have acted unwisely and in anger aside? Where would we be if we held each other for all of our past mistakes? I trust the people in this room to help him to make the proper decisions and will be kind enough to understand that he is not dangerous, as he is unarmed and in a time that he can not yet comprehend.”

He feels insulted. He can understand things just fine, and while he is unarmed he is more than capable of doing something vicious if he feels like it. He understood that Dumbledore was saving his life, insuring him a place, but it stings something awful to be counted and seen as someone so low, as someone so weak.

“Very well.” The older woman moves forward. 

“Molly!” A man that's been watching from the hall looks at her very concerned. 

“Don’t Molly me. I will not be responsible for throwing a boy to his death. It's not easy to overlook everything connected to him, but I am willing to try. As long as he stays without a wand.”

“Exactly Molly.” Albus looks pleased.

And Tom feels like he can sink no lower. 

“Fine.” Alistar relents, “But if he even tries anything, gives me good reason, I am killing him myself. And I will curse him if I hear any of that pureblood mania come from his lips.” 

“Perhaps in these times, it is best to tell them the truth regarding that Tom.” 

His heart starts to race, it's not something he wants to think about as he does not say anything. Dumbledore takes his silence as motivation to move ahead, explaining for him. “Tom is not a pureblood, his father was a Muggle.”

Now that causes a lot of murmuring. He knows what they think. He slowly puts his hands both of them over his ears. Feeling nothing but loathing for himself and them. Just like Hogwarts, just like Wools. His hands tremble for the effort as he attempts to drown it out, but it's no use. It burrows in deep. 

Freak

Devil

Pathetic

Disgusting

Mudblood

The voices blend. His breathing picks up and he silences them all with screwing his eyes shut and taking in deep breaths one after another. He wants away from this, he wants to be alone. He tries to get out of bed, and he feels a hand rest on his bandaged arm to stop him. 

“Don’t try to get up,” Molly says softly to him as if he will break. He pulls hard away from her. 

“You are injured Tom, don’t be irrational.” Dumbledore practically commands him to stay in place. 

“I don’t care, I don’t.” He hisses. “I am not a freak, I won’t be spoken about like one. I won’t be observed like some animal at the zoo. Go away or I will.” 

The old man nods sullenly, pity. Pity that makes him want to tear his own hair out, smash the mirror hanging on the far wall, that lets him see what sort of a horrible mess he is covered in bandages. Even around Mudbloods, outcasts, rejects, and possible half breeds if Dumbledore kept his pet Hagrid in the mix, he is the freak. Hours ago he was Hogwart's best student, he had gained some semblance of respect as a prefect. 

“We will leave you to rest.” Dumbledore leaves and the rest of them follow. He waits until he is sure that they are all gone and away from the door. 

And then he breaks, lets himself go, and crumples. He allows himself to be weak. He allows himself to cry. He can not remember the last time that he did so, but he sobs. He full-on sobs till his chest burns and the pain potion seemed to have worn off some. He cries over being trapped here in this time, where he is even more alone than ever. He cries over the unfairness of his life, he cries because the one person that he had always trusted to be able to make the right decisions had failed him. He failed himself and became something that is so far gone that it deserves nothing but the fieriest pit of hell. He understands their hatred, even though he wishes that he didn’t. When his tears dry, he forces himself to sleep, even in this place that feels almost as unsafe as his cell had been. He doesn't doubt that if anything was to happen to Dumbledore that the others will kill him.


	3. Desolation

Tom sits up in the bed of his assigned room. There isn’t much point in trying to get out of it. The pain potions, and healing medicine running through his veins, only serves to make him sleepy. It's not his ideal, he spent however long in a dungeon sleeping because he was too weak to do much else. Now that he is starting to heal he still isn’t able to do much else. He doesn’t think even when he has healed that they will let him do much else than be shut up in this room. This is their headquarters after all and he was a younger version of the monster that they have spent however long battling. Dumbledore was also insistent about not giving him a wand and limited it seemed information he was given about everything. If he was in their place he would have just killed him, but he supposes that Murder is not what the ‘light’ side did. 

There are a few things that he has been able to find out, from Molly. The home that was converted to a secret organizational hideout was 12 Grimmauld Place. It is the house of one of his followers, and he supposes allies back in his own time. Orion’s home, there is something unsettling about thinking his almost friend had lived here, had a family, and then died in the same place of old age and declining health. It makes it strangely all that more real. Thinking about how everyone from his time would be very old witches and wizards or they would be dead, rotting in the ground somewhere. 

It's hard to fall asleep even with the potions. Yes, they made him drowsy, but he is surrounded by people that hate him. Even hate probably is a weak way to describe their feelings for him. The worst part of it all is not the hate, Tom is quite used to that, no its the fact that he is defenseless. It seemed while he was knocked out from the healing potion for his lung, they had gone about the room and picked up anything that could be reached or broken and be fashioned into a makeshift weapon. Even the old lamp by the bedside was gone, replaced with a very safe never-ending burning candle. That would not fare as anything more than a very small burn or break on impact. The windows he can only imagine are slightly enforced and on the second floor. There is no good way to escape or fight off an attack.

At the moment he has to be content with just sitting there because everything hurts, there is no place to go, no resources even if there was a place in order to get there, and no way of defending should Voldemort get any ideas. 

Trapped…

After everything, he is still a prisoner. He would consider this better than the dungeon but only barely. Things could only get better, and anything was better than waiting for his future self to come and torture him a bit more for fun. 

Time alone gives him time to think about the ring, his ring that he has seen on Dumbledore’s graying hand. He would have had to be a fool not to see it, one of his Horcruxes… or are they really his anymore? Is that how they were trying to defeat him, hunting down objects that held remnants of the soul? If that was the case then what was to happen to him when all of them were destroyed?

His head throbbed thinking about the endless possibilities of fate that could befall him. That had to be the play. Dumbledore wanted him to help find the rest of them, or to tell him what objects might have been chosen. But how many were there, how many did his future self make. That could explain the madness… 

He can't bring himself to eat the cold porridge on the nightstand, his thoughts making him sick. He had never liked the unknown, he liked things to be organized and simple to control. There were too many unknown variables, too many things that could go horribly wrong. 

Well more wrong than they had been. 

Mid-day there is a knock. No one ever knocked. Molly would come in with food, leave it for him, and then leave if he did not try and drag her into a little small talk. She was frightened of him, and weary. Never giving him much of anything that would be useful. It seemed like she wanted to be nice to him, offer him a chance to make a place for himself, but was trapped with worrying if giving him anything would end up getting everyone she loved killed. Considering he saw a lot of redheads trampling past his door ever so often that was conveniently left open for the world to come and gack at him, she had a lot of family to protect. 

“Enter.” He gives permission, looking passed the only slightly open curtains to see a girl about his age. If one could truly call her a girl. He had never seen one care so little about their appearance. She has frizzy wild dark brown hair, not a sign of makeup to hide a spotty face, and wearing what could not pass as wizard wear. Of course, the clothes that they stuck him in are not much better in that regard. She has a tight grip on a small stack of books that she is using as a barrier between herself and making eye contact with him. He sighs, if everyone was going to be terrified of him and he hasn’t done anything, this is really going to be all sorts of fun living here. 

“I thought that you might… well… I would like… if I were you that is… Some books to read since you can't leave the room.” She stumbles out. She puts the books by the bedside on the nightstand. Her hands are shaking as she pushes them a little closer to him. 

“I would thank you, but I think someone put you up to this so thank them for thinking of me and sending you with the books.” 

She blinks at him, brown eyes widening to remind him of an owl’s and he thinks that the wall is more interesting with its dotted pattern. He could hear her sharp intake of breath.

“Mrs. Weasley asked me.” 

“Can’t imagine that there were many volunteers,” Tom mutters. Waiting for her to just hurry up and leave so that he can at least look at the titles. He wonders what such a boring girl would have chosen topic wise. She makes no move to leave though, just standing there shaking like a leaf. “Is there a reason you are still here? You dropped the books off didn’t you?”

“I… er…” She fumbles for words. “I thought that you might want company.” 

“You can hardly look at me, let alone in the eyes.” Tom glared at her. “What kind of company would you even be able to keep Ms.” He trails off giving her the option to give her name. He doesn’t particularly need it, but he is sure that Dumbledore will want to talk about how he chased her off, it was best to know her name beforehand in that case. 

“Uh Granger, Hermione.” The way that she almost seems to forget her own name in his presence at least to him points out that there is no way that they will be able to have any sort of conversation. However, her seeming naiveness could prove useful. 

“Granger, I have never heard of that one.”

“I don’t suppose that you have.” She admits. 

“Muggle then.” He smiles acceptingly, “Nice to know that I am not the only one with tainted blood.”

“It's not tainted at all!” She bristled. Her fear seemed to vanish instantly with the ferociousness of that statement. 

“Not to you then.” Tom amends. “Personally I have never cared for my muggle relatives.”

Her eyes seem to widen, and the realization of something he does not like shines on her face. Hermione was lost it seemed for a reply and he decides to turn a blind eye to the way that she swiftly makes an exit. He can see black hair in the hall there are frantic whispers and he can definitely hear the sound of a stifled sniffle. Dumbledore would definitely be talking to him and the books are too far away to reach with his bad hand and with the damaged rib area. He sighed deeply, flopping back from his sitting position to a laying one. He studies the canopy as if the green curtains held the mysteries of the world to get him out of this mess. 

~/*\~

No one visits till late.

This time it's not Molly that brings him his food, but the redheaded girl. He wonders briefly if Mrs. Weasly was attempting to try and give him a girlfriend or sending all the people that were his age, except for Harry to try and make friends with him. She doesn’t say a word to him, just puts a soup bowl down and leaves. He doesn’t want to ask her to move the books closer and so he just eats a tiny bit of the soup, feeling slightly nauseous as he chokes down bite after bite. It's not that it tastes bad, no he had eaten far worse, but he has no want to eat. He feels lightheaded from lack of eating and that makes eating such a chore to do. 

He leaves the bowl half full and nearly drops it putting it back onto the nightstand. His hand is useless. He is useless. He feels against the bandages rubbing and placing pressure on them. Pain dull pain up from the palm to the wrist. He wonders if he can do the movements properly if he were to get a wand. He tries closing it around the sheets, and into a fist. More dull pain. If it wouldn’t make him look like an utter fool he would practice with the thick spoon, but spilling and holding it like a wand would simply make him look like that. 

“I came to collect the dishes.” Hermione is there again. He can see Harry in the doorway.

“Couldn’t come alone this time I see.” Tom snips at her. None of them can stand him and he knows that he is taking his frustration out on her but he doesn't care. He doesn’t care about any of them, because he knows they care nothing for him. All judging him for things he doesn't know and for things that he himself hasn’t done yet. 

“Shut up,” Harry says sharply, moving from his place in the hall towards Hermione that has yet to come close enough to take the bowl. 

“I don’t bite.” He no longer is as angry about it, now he is just tired. Giving them more reason to fear him, and giving into his temper would only damage things in the long run. He doesn’t need to be their friend, but he certainly doesn’t need to give them a reason to want to harm him. He can’t do anything in this state. 

“Shut up,” Harry repeats and they lock eyes. It’s a stupid battle of wills perhaps, but Tom doesn’t look away. 

Pride he reminds himself, it's all he has. He’s willing to bend slightly. Tom takes in a deep breath, tries to count to three, and tries to smile. He is reminded so very much of trying to be nice to Abraxas and the other higher up Slytherins that hated him at the start. 

“I think that Dumbledore would be upset with us both if we don’t attempt to get along. We can at least be pleasant to one another, yes? We’re going to be stuck here together for a while after all.” 

“He will have to excuse me for not wanting anything to do with you.” Harry puts bluntly. “I think that he would understand all things considering.” 

Tom sighs deeply. “Who are you anyway? He seems to care about you, enough to allow you to sit in on meetings that all the other underaged wizards and witches in the house were not able to.” 

“I’m Harry Potter, and the reason behind that isn’t any of your concern.”

He wasn’t going to make any headway with someone that was this stubborn. Someone this aggravating and full of hate. Especially someone that seemed to think themselves of some grand importance and close to someone as Dumbledore. Tom has little doubt that only suffering came from being that close to someone like the old man. His help had costs. 

“I recognize your last name. There was a Potter in my time, Charlus Potter, Pureblood then?” Tom tilts his head. It would explain the entitlement. 

“Half-Blood.” Harry grits. 

He’s only slightly surprised by that. 

“So many of us now then, people marrying muggles and the like. Do you believe that there is anything wrong with the mixing of blood, believe there isn’t anything to be ashamed of?”

Hermione looks nervously between the two of them. It is obvious that Harry is a Gryffindor like his ancestors before him. The way that he stands there boldly, like some dashing hero to save his precious Mudblood.

“There is nothing wrong with my mother's side.” Harry spits back.

“I never said there was,” Tom interjects. 

“You implied it.” 

“I was just asking,” Tom says innocently. 

“Stop asking then,” Harry demands. 

“You can’t blame me.” Tom shrugs. “In my time it would be seen as a great insult to have a mother or father that was a Muggle or Mudblood.”

Harry got very close then to him. Tom wonders if he is going to curse him or punch him. He is tempted to make a comment on how bad his eyesight must be to get that close but decides against it. Anger and Fear that seems to be the only emotions he was able to invoke. 

“Harry it's not worth cursing him over.” Hermione intercepts holding on to his arm. “You mustn't.” 

“It's just a word.” Tom lets out a small breath, as there is no curse that comes. 

“A foul word. Harry hisses at him. “I won’t have you call anyone it here.”

“In my time that was what they were called.” Tom actually isn’t sure what he has done wrong other than apparently, it was still slightly offensive. It was no different then in the muggle world calling blacks the ‘proper’ term. He didn’t like it but it had been the way things were. 

“It’s a slur.” Hermione seems to jump to full education mode. 

“Oh, so there are more sociable ways to say it now, good to know.” He says boredly. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t know.” Harry glares his anger, deflating only a little.

They are children. Tom hates those that are not mature enough to act their ages. 

“It may astound you but I am from 50 years in the past. We had all sorts of names for people that weren't considered as offensive as they are apparently now. I never liked being called a Mudblood, because I find it insulting, but that was the word for it.”

“We prefer muggle-born in this time.” Hermione carefully adds.

“My mother was a Muggle-born, Hermione is one too.” Harry frowns deeply. 

“Your tense of was tells me she’s dead. Voldemort I presume.” Tom takes a wild guess. 

“Yes, my father too.” Harry is back on the defensive it seems.

“My condolences then.” Tom shrugs done with this conversation. He now knew where the hostility came from. Harry was orphaned and Dumbledore had taken him under his wing, something that he did not do for Tom. Something that he wasn’t sure he ever wanted, but can now not help but envy slightly. 

“You don’t care at all do you?” Harry snaps. 

Tom glowers. “Not particularly. I’m not Voldemort, I don’t feel remorse or take responsibility for his actions.”

“You're heartless,” Harry says it with conviction as if he knows him. 

“What do you want from me?” Tom loses it, his patience is at an end. The curtains around the bed ripple outward as his magic seeps out of his control. “Do you want me to hold your hand and tell you I sympathize with you because you have no parents?”

Hermione has taken a step back from him, putting Harry between herself and him. 

“Well guess what neither do I, Potter, grow up. You can't whine about it forever.” Tom finishes, trying to rain his magic back into check.

“Some of us actually liked our parents.” Harry fires back and perhaps he knows that he has gone too far because the mirror cracks on the wall, even if it was enforced it's obliterated. They look at it and then him. Silence so thick that it is unexplainable. He can’t stand to look at them. 

“Get out.” He finally growls. 

They don’t have to be told twice. They even leave the bowl failing the very reason they came.

Molly visited shortly after to get the bowel. “You know dear it’s in your best interest to try and get along with them.” She takes out her wand and the mirror fixes itself. She seems to pause waiting for him to say anything but he doesn’t. He doesn’t thank her for taking it from him or anything else. She sighs as if disappointed. “I might send someone in the morning if you haven’t scared them all off. Otherwise, it will just be me.” 

He doesn’t respond. She doesn’t understand, and he knows that she can’t. She would take their side anyway. She at least moved the stacks of books closer so that he can read. 

~/*\~

Time continues to creep forward at a horrible rate to an acceptable bedtime. The books are useless, they are on harmless plants and on magical creatures that are tame, nothing interesting remotely. He can feel his brain cells dying. None of this is useful. He throws them to the floor. His breathing was harsh at that little effort. He wants to go home. He wants to go where he has some semblance of normal and some people want him there. 

They won’t even let him research a way. He grips his head, tightening his fingers into the mess of tangles. It’s all so aggravating. The only explanation that he has is that they want him to help them, then perhaps kill him. Dumbledore wouldn't like it, but he could possibly overlook it, all in the name for the greater good.

~/*\~

Grimmauld Place is clean thanks to Molly and Ginny’s efforts. Kreacher is near less than useless, Harry swears that he adds more mess than he helps. Sirius was away on a mission and he was the only one that the elf would begrudgingly listen to, or would just hide away from. Harry sinks into the living room chair. He plans to wait up for Dumbledore that is supposed to return late in the evening to early morning. He doesn’t give much care to Mrs. Weasley’s warning about sleep and sleep patterns, as if he can sleep while that monster Tom Riddle is up there in one of the guest bedrooms. All he can think of when he sees that smug-looking face, is the Chamber. He remembers what the other said to him about his parents, and he knows that the second Horcrux that Dumbledore had destroyed was made by the killing of his Muggle family.

He sighs deeply he has no right to feel guilty. Tom Riddle was a monster, but the wounded angry look on his face, that was one that Harry knew well. It did not look like it was faked in the slightest. His magic had reacted, without thinking after all. He looked awful, laying there a wounded animal. A wounded animal that bit and shredded anyone that came to visit him. He does not want to feel sorry for Tom. He really doesn't but he has to admit that he looked like his future self had given him hell, absolute Hell. Harry can almost relate, he had been tortured briefly in a graveyard his fourth year. He still can't forgive the idea of tainted blood. The way Riddle acted like it was a curse. 

His eyes drifted to his friend. Hermione is resting on the sofa a book pulled up close to her. She had finally calmed from the encounter. 

'To think he can do something like that without a wand.' Hermione had stuttered out.

Yes, Riddle might not have had a wand but he was still dangerous. Harry knew from experience how manipulative the diary had been. Tom did not need magic to cause damage. He was able to shake them up with a few words. He had to be faking all that crap about not knowing proper terms for things. His fist tightens at the mere thought. He forces himself to listen to the Radio. Its no good news, nothing ever is anymore. The world was run by fear and hate. 

The fireplace turns green, and Dumbledore steps through the flames onto the rug. He pats himself off.

"Harry." He greets, " I thought that I would have to wait to talk to you until morning. It would have been good for you to rest."

"I'm alright Professor."

"I am no longer a Professor," Dumbledore says politely taking a seat in the only other open chair.

"I will make some tea. Mrs. Weasley who had snuck up on them said with a tired smile.

That would be appreciated, thank you, Molly." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

While Mrs. Weasly makes tea Harry tells Dumbledore everything about his and Hermione's encounters with Tom. Dumbledore listens hands folded in his lap. The blackened one looks worse tonight then it did the last time that he had seen it. It was worrying, but Harry did not wish to draw attention to it with the way that Dumbledore had brushed it aside the last time. Hermione thought that he was dying, Harry will not entertain the idea. They would all be lost without him. 

"He is rude." Harry finished. "Snapping at anyone that remotely visits him, and never says thank you for anything."

"I think it is good to remember what time frame he is from Harry. It is very important. He grew up in a Muggle orphanage in the middle of 2 large wars. Both a muggle one and then the wizarding one. There were a great number of people that were orphaned, and that grew up without families. I don't find it all that surprising that he doesn't sympathize with you in that regard. I feel he would think it weak to expect anyone to pity an orphan, having grown up in that environment." Harry opened his mouth but Dumbledore held up his hand. "Never the less it was very rude of him to comment the way he did about blood purity and to egg you both on with it. I will talk with him perhaps tomorrow on this."

Molly chooses then to return with the tea tray. Harry bites his lip thinking about what Dumbledore said. The old man casts a few privacy spells so that they are free to speak about any topic without the worry of being overheard. He then takes the warm beverage with a loud sigh of contentment.

"Its probably for the best that you talk to him about the blood status." Hermione enters the conversation. "I don't know if I believe him about his use of the word Mudblood, but he seems to have a lot of self-hate over it."

Harry blinks at her. "What?"

"The way he phrased it, it's like he has absorbed the message that Muggle-borns and Muggle blood is not as good or clean as others."

"Anyone with two brain cells can tell that its all bogus Hermione. He was a head student, certainly, he is smart enough." Harry retorted.

"But at the time there were many prejudices. It was impossible to move up in some places. It was probably easier to internalize it and blame his father that way. He did hate his father enough to kill him."

"You may be correct, Ms. Granger. I do blame a lot of the issue for his house sortment and the wizarding war that Grindelwald was waging. However, it did not excuse him from killing Tom Riddle Sr. and his parents that day."

"Of course not pro- Dumbledore Sir." The brightest witch of the age bowed her head.

"It is unfortunate Tom's prejudices, hopefully with time, and with the right guidance it will lesson." Dumbledore places down his cup. "I was hoping to talk in the morning about another matter but perhaps it should be discussed now."

"Does it have to do with where you have been for the last few days, sir. Harry politely inquires.

"It unfortunately has to do with our bedridden guest. I have looked into his issue of time displacement. As of now, I have two very prominent theories in regards to him. Both I trust that both will stick between ourselves and perhaps one Ronald Weasley."

"Of course," Harry assures the man. 

'Very well in his memories, Tom was playing around with a necklace that had a great resemblance to a rudimentary Time-Turner. I believe this to be the possible cause of his displacement. However, if it is just a mistake of being pulled through time, that does not explain why he and Voldemort are able to be in the same location at the same time. As you understand perhaps too well Ms. Granger there are unfathomable consciences usually for such an action."

Hermione shuttered. "Not existing at all ever, across all of time is one of the common theories." 

"Correct and the other is ripping a hole in time itself. Since neither of these things has occurred it has led me to think about other possible explanations. One is that there is a branching of time, in one timeline Voldemort that we are familiar with played with the charm and nothing happened. He did not receive any knowledge, nor power. In the branch of our current resident, Riddle was sucked to the future."

"How can one branch a timeline. I have never heard of such a thing before." Hermione asks the very question that Harry did not know that he had. 

"How indeed." The old man sighs greatly. "It is thought that a branch can be made with a very definitive moment. Eventually, the timeline split will have to converge. If this is the case, we can not be sure how long Voldemort and Tom can co-exist one might simply disappear. If that is the case, one can hope that it is Voldemort that does so and that we do not have a rip in time. I can not imagine the consequences of such a thing."

Silence hangs heavy in the air. "And the other idea sir," Harry asks. 

"The other I fear is just as likely and the possible explanation lies with the Horcruxes." Dumbledore held up his blackened hand. "As we are destroying them, the energy of that soul must go somewhere. It is unknown what happens to that energy of a destroyed soul shard. To barrow, a Muggle phrase energy can not be created nor destroyed. In magic we also have a similar idea of conservation of matter, we cannot create something out of nothing, nor can particles, atoms, a semblance of molecules just disappear. it is very possible that the reason that Tom is unable to recall clearly what got him here is because he only has the memories of the 2 Horcruxes that were destroyed. He in essence is 2 shards given a corporal form."

That information sits heavy. "So if we are to destroy more, he will gain more soul?" 

"Perhaps, I don't claim to know all about magic. I am merely saying that it is unlikely that those soul shards would return to Voldemort in this state. He to put it lightly is not very human. Tom might be able to absorb them as they are destroyed simply because he is a much larger portion of energy and has more soul from the future or not. Which brings me to the final mention of the evening. I have used Tom's memories found out another one of the Horcruxes, Nagini." 

“The snake...” Harry hates that thing for what it had done to Arthur, and for the fact that he had to see it through her eyes. 

"Yes, it would explain the connection and its inability to die or be damaged no matter the curse that Tom hurled at it. It will not be an easy one to destroy, or to obtain." The old man looks sadly at them. "Do not worry. We are making progress. We know now what 4 of the 7 are. Tom might be able to help us to locate and or identify the remaining 3. We have the locket, safely stored there just is no good way as of the moment to destroy it. Nigini would most likely be the last to go after, as she is always at his side or in reach."

"With all due respect Dumbledore, I don't think Tom will want to help us find or identify parts of his soul," Hermione whispers even though there is no reason for her to do so. 

"That is particularly why I must ask a very difficult task of the both of you, try and befriend him. He will be much more willing to help us should he think he is benefiting from it."

Harry grist his teeth. "It's not exactly something that is going to be easy sir."

No, it is a lot worse than him trying to befriend Slughorn and letting himself be collected. He was trying to be nice, kind to the person that had tried to kill Ginny, would become the man that killed hundreds of people in the first wizarding war alone not including the second. The idea of it makes his skin crawl, he would much rather be friends with Malfoy. 

Dumbledore seemed to sense his worry as he stood to retire no doubt for the evening. "I know I am asking a lot of you Harry, but it is essential, and do not let him see through you. I have a feeling it would end rather poorly, unlike Slughorn I fear Tom would not be forgiving." 

~/*\~

Up in his room, Tom got a bad chill that woke him from sleep. It was the type of cold feeling that he often got when he knew someone to be talking about or planning something against him, which meant that Dumbledore most likely had returned. He rolls over, to look at the canopy, the fake stars woven into the fabric above shimmer. He would have done anything to be in his own time looking at the real ones on the astronomy tower. Of all the things in the world that he could have liked about Hogwarts, besides learning Magic, he had favored the stary skies. Something about them drew him in. Prophecies, and fates drawn up in some grand design waiting to be read, and the power held by the seasons changing had always fascinated him. Stargazing had been a good way to be alone, and out after hours. All one needed was a pass, and they could sit out there, away from the world and the hurtful people and words. Stars were not something he could see here, nor in the orphanage. There was always a thick coat of smoke from factories going, and too many lights. He plays with his damaged hand and finds Orion's belt before he drifts back to sleep.


	4. Starting Point

Harry doesn't sleep, his new idea of a task rooting itself into the very front of his brain. It's an awful circle that just when he gets comfortable, there is a nightmare waiting for him, of all the ways that everything could go horribly wrong. There just is not a great plan on this. He has never been the best on plans but he at least liked to have a vague one. It is because of lack of planning and, beforeHarry had really put his foot down, not being informed enough that he had almost lost Sirius. If he had not thought to sneak off grounds with a broom and his invisibility cloak after warning Snape, and flew to other Order Members. Then it would have ended a lot worse. Things with the Ministry had only got worse after his escape from Hogwarts. Being expelled did not really matter after Voldemort crashed down on the Ministry. Took over it because Leadership was not existent, and there had been no prep work done as they had spent the whole time claiming that Dumbledore, Sirius, and himself were scheming to destroy all of Wizard Britian

Harry can only thank Percy for doing one good deed to try to make up for bashing his own family and publicly denouncing them. Him destroying all of the records he could of Muggle-borns and other wizarding families. He had truly proved him to be Gryffindor. He had torched the hall of records with a few other braver employees and suffered the worst death that Harry could imagine for his actions, torture, and then a dementors kiss. It was because of Percy that it was possible to use magic sparingly if a person was underage and that unless the Ministry or Voldemort wanted to check every little instance of Magic being used, had no good way of tracking and finding people that way. Percy was a hero, it was sad that he could never be buried as one, they would probably never know what was done with the body.

Harry still could not go outside, not without using the cloak the whole time he was out, or a mass of glimmers. They were public enemies, so were most Muggle-borns and their spouses. It was worse if someone had dared to marry a Muggle. Being informed and in the loop now about things was not exactly sunshine and roses. Harry felt great guilt for his inability to act yet and take down Voldemort. It had to be him after all. He was the chosen one, and apparently, as long as he and Dumbledore were still fighting, most people would continue to resist. They were after all the pillars of hope. At least that's what the underground newspaper written by Luna's father was claiming.

Most of the time Harry felt pretty useless. Snape was only able to warn them sparingly of attacks and raids. He had to be one of the bravest people that Harry knew for that. It didn't excuse his less than great personality and hate that he harbored for him., but Harry at least could respect him for facing the snake-faced monster and letting it rummage through his head, and kept his secrets, the important ones at least. He just wished the other had gifted him that knowledge. Harry could feel Voldemort trying hard sometimes to use their connection. His mind shields are not the greatest, but he at least knows how to try and advert the other when his scar starts to burn. He is not always able to keep him out, but usually, Lupin or Dumbledore when he is available can help by trying to place barriers in his mind. 

It brings back all his worry that they really did not have a plan in this situation. They had a long term goal. Beat Voldie by destroying his many Horcruxes and put out the fires and stop raids whenever possible till then. Now there was yet another problem for them to deal with and give attention to. Tom Riddle. 

He could sum up everything they talked about as be nice to Tom and hope for the best. What was to say that they defeated Voldemort and Tom just took his place or along that same line, returned to the past, and not a thing changed? He doesn't even want to think about the whole time rip scenario. 

So it brings him to face the fact that he needs to befriend Riddle. Tom is not going to want to be friends with him. Not with the way that their past meetings have been. If there is one thing that he knows, it's that Voldemort holds grudges. Besides, Harry already knows they are opposites. Tom is a loner, he never was shown to be too close to anyone that he was with, and thus didn't see a use for friends. Harry on the other hand would have been lost without his. His whole world revolved around them. Voldemort straight up said that attachments were weaknesses. He knows that he should not think of Tom as Voldemort, Dumbledore had encouraged him not to. Tom himself had said that he wasn't him. But Harry's mind keeps supplying the 'yet'. He is not Voldemort _yet._ He certainly does have the capability. The diary proved that hate for Muggles and Muggle-borns, sprinkled in with self-loathing according to Hermione all were great qualities in a rising Dark Lord, this time around that had some foresight. 

He gets up and carries himself to the shower with all the things that he'll need. He is in for a long day with a couple of mission briefs and no doubt training with Dumbledore to get better at shielding his mind. If he is lucky Sirius will get back soon, he had been scouting a couple of locations in his more furry form lately. He also had to help Hermione break the news to Ron about the plan to befriend Tom. Harry would be lucky if Ron was capable of being decent towards the other after what they told him last night. 

~/*\~

Tom wakes to Dumbledore posted by his bedside with potions. It is not the first thing that he wants to see in the morning, not by a long shot. He can guess that the old man had been the one that picked up the books off the floor. He sighs already tired of a conversation that has yet to even happen. He tries to sit up straighter in this case, as he never liked to look weak or vulnerable in such a man's presence. He knows that appearance alone cannot win over the old wizard, but he can not help but want to present himself as he always had. Respectable and strong, regardless of the bandages. 

Pride, he still has it even laying here in this bed, just as he had in Wool's, and just as he had when he was facing his own self in a throne room. 

"Good Morning Tom." He is handed the first potion for the remaining, nerve damage in his hand and then the one for his lung. Dumbledore makes sure that he drinks it all before handing him a bowl. And quickly went over him with his wand, to see if the wounds were healing. He did not bother to even ask for permission. Tom just watches it, not even taking a bite of the offered oatmeal. He wants his wand back so badly.

Dumbledore notes him eyeing it, but says nothing about the fact that they are purposely keeping him disarmed. "I have heard you weren't eating as much as you should. You will not heal if you don't eat." The old man returns to his chair. Tom holds the bowl a little tighter and proceeds to place it back on the small dresser. Dumbledore shakes his head at this action, no doubt finding it pitiful that his arm trembles. Tom doesn't feel up to eating. There are other things that matter more, like getting the old man away from him.

"I am sure that's not all you have heard nor why you are really here to speak to me.” Tom folded his arms, fingers gripping at the sleeves in a comforting gesture. 

“Your health matters to me, as one of my former charges it depresses me so that you think I don't care enough to check up on you.” His soft tone will not lure Tom into any form of security.

Tom glares daggers at him. He can’t be serious, he couldn’t have. “You cared to check up on me did you?” His anger steamed with every word, tightening his grip on his arm. Dull pain from his bad hand, bleed into his senses, but he wouldn't let the weakness show.

"Is that so hard to believe? You are a guest here." Dumbledore spins the ring on his finger. Tom's ring, as if to mock him. He averts his gaze.

"Prisoner," Tom corrects automatically.

"Guest," Dumbledore repeats. "And as one that I asked to be taken care of, it matters to me how you are fairing. I would do the same for you when you were at Hogwarts."

Tom bites back a laugh.

"Do you wish to share what you find so humorous Tom?" Thick graying eyebrows raise.

"Wellness checks?" Tom frowns. "You never gave me any of those and only stared me down in class as if you expected better than being able to transfigure a hedgehog into a pincushion on the second try. And you never bothered to _check_ on me outside of Hogwarts."

"I believe I was the one that would make sure you made your trains to school," Dumbledore informed him as if doing the bare minimum excused it all. 

"Of course you were. Nothing else about care required after that?" Tom mocks.

The old man has the nerve to act as if his words hurt him. "I would often make inquiries about your well being."

To what? Tom's mind rages to make sure that I hadn't killed anyone? As if he cared, it's far too late for that. He had gotten away with it under the man's nose. He takes a steadying breath to not explode.

"You never bothered to check in person." Tom hissed, "You thought they were going to tell you the truth in a letter while bombs were being dropped on London? Or tell you about how Cloe was replaced by the religious freak that thought I was possessed. I am sure he told you all about the beatings and the way he tried to have me recruited for the war. Any of the orphans really. You were never there for me. None of you professors were. It is funny to me that you dare to pretend you care now.”

He feels out of breath for his effort, but he wants it to be known. He wants him to know that he won’t fall for it. Harry Potter might but not Tom Riddle. Tom is not a foolish starry eyed delusional child that could rely on Dumbledore for anything. Tom is the product of a loveless union that led to the ruin of his father, and the death of his mother. He was foraged by uncaring caregivers, starvation, beatings, and bullying. He was self-reliant because no one could be trusted to help. Dumbledore was never a mentor. He was never more than a footnote in the reason that Tom detested 'adults'.

“You also never asked for it,” Dumbledore said plainly.

“I shouldn’t have had to.” Tom hisses. “And I did once.” 

He had just once...

People were always telling him to ask for help but didn't offer it. People should care what happens to children, not stuff them up on 3rd floors never to look at again because they formed some semblance of independence, not brush them aside when they ask for small things or for the people stealing their things to give them back. But the truth was no one cared. Hogwarts professors should have cared and noted the curses that land people in the medical ward, not shift them off as harmless pranks or turn a blind eye to house fighting. But they didn't, they let it continue and took points off. But yet it's his fault? It's his fault for never asking? How was he to ask, when he had begged not to go back, to stay, not to be sent there again. Years worth of pain bubble out, just at the mere thought that the other would pretend to care. Prend now that when he was at his most fractured that he was a caring person. He swore he saw red with how much contempt that he had for the other. 

“I asked you who looked at me and damned me even in your classroom not to send me back, I asked Dippet to stay as Hogwarts was the only place I ever felt at home. Who else was I to ask? What was I to say?”

“Horace…” Dumbledore started. 

“Was an imbecile.” Tom spat finishing whatever sentence the other could have started. “Constantly looking to collect the next shiny trinket. Never cared what form it came in, but couldn’t possibly believe that his beloved rich family purebloods would have children that would bully the Mudbloods of his classes. The most powerful person that apparently must have defeated Grindelwald or wouldn’t be here turned a blind eye to me.” 

“I did not turn a blind eye to you.” Dumbledore's voice hardens. It looses the stupid wise soft tone that he had been using in front of others. The truest face that Tom has ever known from him. “I was hard on you because you were praised by all of your other teachers, and I couldn’t offer you privileges that I could not offer others. I was fighting Grindelwald the nights of the bombings. It was a war, and sometimes there are things that take priority, even though we wish they didn't have to. I can not change the past.”

His tone tells Tom not to push it, but Tom supposes that he has been pushed too far to date because he wants to continue throwing his rage at the other, it's oddly soothing. He has no other way to express himself, everything seems restricted. He shuts his mouth though, the thought of being thrown out or losing Dumbledore's favor completely is too much of a scary thought. He can't afford to be thrown out into the world, one he knows nothing about. 

“There are other things that I do wish to talk about if you are done accusing me.” Dumbledore sighs, it seems that he is just as tired as Tom is in many ways. 

“Does it have to do with Potter and his friends?” Tom matches his sigh. 

“Yes among other things." Dumbledore nods swiftly.

"Do you want me to play nice with him? I doubt that he would be as eager to talk with me again as I am him." Tom smiles sharply. " If he doesn't decide to take everything I say out of context, perhaps I can attempt to be able to be civil with him."

"You will have to forgive Harry, Tom. Lord Voldemort condemned him to a life without family and friends for many years, even now Voldemort threatens all that he is close to. He lives now as Voldemort's most hated enemy, even more so than myself."

"That I find hard to believe." Tom shakes his head. Tom can not imagine a world where he could hate a boy that was hardly his own age more than Dumbledore. 

"I am sure you do." Dumbledore smiles ever so slightly at that "As it stands a better part of the country is hunting for him."

"Why?" Dumbledore blinked at him. "Why is he the most hated enemy?" Tom clarifies. "Why waste the effort, for one boy?"

"Voldemort as I am sure you have gathered holds long-standing grudges. He attempted to kill Harry due to a prophecy, as a baby and failed."

"It astounds me how weak, I could become." Tom shakes his head.

"What bothers you is that he failed, not that he attempted to kill an infant." The old man says it like he had expected Tom not to be able to sink any lower. It twists his insides a little. 

"Prophecies are usually self-fulfilling. It horrifies me to see how my mental state falls." His eyes drift to the doorway as there is the sound of creaking floorboards. He would bet anything that someone was trying to listen in. See if he would hurt the man. "I really must lose my way somewhere down the line." 

"That is one way of putting it." Dumbledore agrees with him. 

"What I want to know is what caused it. Voldemort was no more than a raging lunatic, so obsessed with his own image that he cursed me for speaking ill of him, even before confirming that hurting me could affect him. It seemed by the way that everyone is acting that all he has done is seize power. I felt his power, and if all he is doing is hiding in a manor attacking people. I can clearly deduce that is not the kind of power that I wish for."

"It is good of you, I suppose to take note of his senseless violence. As for exactly what causes it, I am not certain. I know that you were very obsessed with the concept of immortality. said Dumbledore slowly. “I fear that Voldemort was unable to look past that and in the end continued to make Horcruxes and commit terrible acts, nothing that contributed anything to the Wizarding World but death. As it stands Tom Riddle and Voldemort are a legend for being a monster and nothing more."

Tom is silent, turning that over in his mind. He had wanted power and recognition, he must have become desperate for it. Voldemort becomes more and more of a pitiful creature in his mind. One that he foresees will meet a tragic, but deserved end. Tom would do it himself if he could. Dumbledore however doesn't allow too much time for him to process it all and only lets the silence drift on for a few minutes. 

"Have you given any thought about what you will do if I am able to help you return to your own time?" 

He hates the word If. If meant nothing, just a possibility. Tom hated dealing with things that were uncertain. 

"Yes but I fail to see how it matters before it returns as it stands. I could go mad considering the possibilities alone. If I can return to my own time however I may return, how can I be sure that what has happened was not meant to happen? how do I know that I wasn't just obviated by your younger self, in an attempt to fix everything."

"It really is quite remarkable your need to see evil in me, Tom. I wouldn't condemn you in such a manner, that I am willing to make an unbreakable vow for." The old man stood waving his wand over the food returning it to a warm temperature. "Please eat Tom." 

Tom eyes the wand again, longing for his own. Magic was Tom’s entire world, it set him apart from even the average Wizard. It was protection, and security. He had none of that since he had landed in this time. 

"I am sorry Tom, but we can't trust you with one yet. Nor do I think that it would be possible to return your old one to you, until Voldemort is defeated." He is handed the bowl again. "I must leave you now I have other matters to attend to."

"One last thing." Tom stares him down, placing all the cards on the table he has. He wants to understand and be clear. He can work with knowing where he stood in the scheme of things. “I know that perhaps the only reason you're helping me has to do with my ring that you are wearing on your hand. I was wearing it before I came here, but you have destroyed it somehow. I would imagine that you would want my help in that regard to track down however many more he made. In exchange for my safety from Voldemort."

Dumbledore pauses. “Your safety is not in exchange for information, though your help would be most appreciated. I intend to help you get back to your own time regardless of what you believe. In the meantime, it may also be important to note that the Diary Horcrux and the ring you have been eyeing both have been destroyed. One by Harry with the help of Ginny and the other by myself."

"I knew that you had destroyed the ring, but not without consequence," Tom says evenly eyes flickered down to the withered hand and back to blue eyes. "But it was an important object of mine, if you would, I would like it back."

"We will discuss this at another time." Dumbledore bows his head in parting. 

He didn't want to discuss it another time. How dare he cut him off like that. But there is nothing that he can do, he can't get up and try to walk after him. His side would hurt too much, he would probably collapse, and calling after him would just be even more pathetic. He takes the spoon, gripping it hard between his fingers. Mortality, and his current state of being tasted bitter.

~/*\~

The girl that bolted at the sight of him, doesn't seem as nervous as the last time that she had come to take his bowl . He wants to try and talk to her, get her to bring him better books. Ones that can help him to actually.

"Good morning." He smiles nicely at her.

"Morning." She answers, her eyes narrowed and suspicious. 

"I have been meaning to talk to you since you have been taking most of my bowls. Thank you for that by the way." He gestures to the chair that Dumbledore had occupied. She eyes him strangely, face just changing around the eyes, less narrowed, more open as she sits down. "What is your name, I think we can start there?" 

"Ginevra." She replied. 

Ginny, his mind shortens it. The person that had helped destroy his first Horcrux. She is definitely someone that he wants to get to know and be cautious of. 

"That's a nice name." He complements. 

"Stop." She says simply. 

He tilted his head. "Stop what."

"Acting so innocent and sweet. It won't work. I know what you do to people." She probably is Gryffindor as well. The way that she puffs herself up as if he is some dragon to slay. He wonders if that is what this whole house is full of them. Orion would probably turn over in his grave to see his house play host to them all. Still, at least there is not a need to keep up appearances, even if he hates the way that people claim to know him, while still not knowing really anything about him he likes being himself more than the act and role he is forced to play.

"Do you?" Tom sighs boredly. "Have it your way. I still want to talk to someone. I have not exchanged more than perhaps 20 words with anyone other than Molly and Dumbledore." 

"You certainly can do a lot of damage with 20 words then judging by Hermione's and Harry's reaction to you." Ginerva sighs. "So what is it that you need or want and we'll go from there.” 

He actually smiled a little at that. "Straight to the point then. I would like to know if there are any more challenging books, perhaps those pertaining to more of my situation or at least the book requirements for a 5th year or higher." 

Ginerva looks over at the stack that he has, "Fine, anything else?" 

"Another change of clothes would be nice," Tom says flatly. 

"Done." she stands up from the chair. 

"Stay." Tom insists, " I have more things to ask you." 

He wants to know more about the Diary. It was such an important one. 

"You're over your quota as you have definitely spoken more than 20 words to me." She stands and collects the half-finished dish. "I have other things to do. If you're so starved for my attention, I will bring you dinner later and spare a few minutes." 

Tom scowls at her. "Why not just use magic to vanish them to the kitchen, wouldn't it be easier?" 

For a magical home, there is hardly any magic in place. He has only seen it in checks for his well being and fixing his mirror. 

"I'm doing this to help my mother." She answers like it's the simplest thing in the world. "Being underaged we have to be a bit more watchful of using magic. Most of the records were destroyed but there are traces still on some people, impossible to know which, and large magic spikes in areas could bring some people from the Ministry snooping. This place is not exactly plottable but they could watch the surrounding area, for those that aren't supposed to be there and fit the wanted descriptions." 

She leaves after that and Tom takes care to peel off all the useless bandages around his arms, and legs. It gives him something to do while he waits for new clothes and better reading selection. The curse that Voldemort had used left scars, some more visible than others. They were thin lines and then there were some that were horrible, large, and ugly. The skin was raised ever so slightly and pink, a color that showed in great contrast on the rest of his smooth and pale skin. They would never go away either, curses like that one left traces, Dark Magic often did. He wonders briefly what his followers and allies would think of such marks? 

They could see it as a testament to his strength, but he fears that more likely they would criticize the ugly marks. They were physical blemishes, where the most flaw lay with his internal state. He could not change what blood ran in his veins. They knew it too, tainted blood in the line of Slytherin but at least half of him was respectable. He might never get the chance to know how they would see it for sure. He could be dead soon, they all could be. Voldemort would no doubt eventually find them. There was no way to keep a place one hundred percent hidden. Someone would mess up, like Ginny had mentioned, and place the Ministry on watch. He has no doubt that the whole group of them would tumble after one another trying to save even one member from a terrible fate. 

He traced over a particularly bad scar. His nail dug a little into the scab, causing blood to dribble out in one little drop, and then another blossomed under it, pushing it out of the indent. He watches it with fascination as it rolls slightly down his forearm. He was mortal now, again. Very susceptible to death. He closed his eyes, feeling his own pulse and the gentle hum.

_Thud._

_Thud._

_Thud._

Despite everything, he is still alive. He was alive no matter what had been thrown against him. He would heal. Mortal or not he would make it out of this one too. Damn anyone that thought that they could put an end to him. 

~/*\~

The meeting is a long one. Mostly it has to do with the latest pushes by the ministry for registration acts. They wanted their records back and had started stopping anyone that stepped foot in the Magical world. The stops were everywhere and at random. Disappearances had picked back up as Hogwarts opened its doors again late into the fall season. It was not the same school. Death Eaters ran it, and Snape had become Headmaster. It had all broken down in less than 4 months and had started to be rebuilt in 2. Harry is almost amazed at the swift changes that were made practically overnight. 

"We always knew they had infested every part of the ministry, this just proves it." Alistar shook his head. "Rotten that place was nearly to the core before all of this started." 

"Indeed." Lupin agrees. He is looking better than when they had first fetched him from the dungeon. Bellatrix had taken a special liking to him after finding out that he was very close to Sirius. 

The discussion becomes on how to best bypass these security measures and how to fake paperwork that might be needed for other operations. It was just hard without having inside men. Percy had he been alive would have proved perfect in this sort of situation. However, there is no one that they can send that is not known to be allies or sympathetic to the cause. They are in the dark, at least for now. Things wrap up with the news that Sirius would be home tomorrow morning is the first good news that Harry has heard. He can't wait to see his Godfather. 

He helps Mrs. Weasley gathers the dishes as more prominent members have left. Alistar, Tonks, and a few others are not residences. The twins for example are safely pretending to denounce their family to keep giving small updates on the state of Diagon Alley. Tonks and Alistar have to keep targeted groups of people moving between safe houses. 

Again that horrible feeling gnaws at him that he is not doing enough, that he is just stuck here in this house. He understands more and more of what Sirius was talking about when he said that this place was a whole different form of Azkaban. 

He turns on the Radio sitting down by the fire, listening to Ron and Hermione bicker softly about the new assignment. 

“Harry I was hoping to catch you before I left.” Dumbledore leans a little hard on his chair. “Tom has asked Ginny for books more topical to his school age. I am sure that you wouldn’t mind sharing with him some of your course books that I brought you.” 

Harry did mind, but he reminded himself of the mission. It would help to mend bridges to give the other books that might interest him. “Of course not sir.” 

Dumbledore’s smile was a tired but warm one. “Thank you, Harry.” He pats him once on the shoulder and makes his leave through the fireplace. 

~/*\~

It is not until later that Tom encounters Harry again. The raven-haired boy runs a hand through his hair as he catches his eye. Tom attempted to at least read the books again, as there is nothing else that he can do. But now he is distracted as there is nothing he hates more than being stared at. His senses tell him that the other boy is itching to talk to him. 

"Good Afternoon." Harry greets, coming into the room, without as much as an invite or announcing that he is coming in. He is holding a few more books though, under his arm and Tom would lie if he said that he was not interested. 

"Afternoon," Tom mutters back. He can't help but stare at the very large jagged scar that is shown now, It reminds him of a lightning bolt. He recognizes it to be a curse scar like the many that line his arms and legs. 

Harry catches his gaze. “A gift from the other you.” 

“I guessed as much.” Tom sits up more in his bed. This was the chosen one by his other self, to mark him as someone that can defeat him. He isn’t sure if there is anything special to the other. 

“I brought books because I heard you wanted something at our level,” Harry says awkwardly. 

Tom must admit that it's almost humorous this Harry in comparison to the one that had charged in after Hermione. “You may leave them here.”

“Look I think we got off on the wrong foot.” Harry shifts his weight. 

“You think?” Tom raised an eyebrow. 

“Look I know we did. So think of this as an olive branch as they are my books and I’ll want them back.” Harry says firmly. “I know Hermione probably stuck you with dry reading.” 

“And utterly safe.” Tom feels the corner of his mouth tug a little but he will not smile. 

“That too.” Harry smiles and it doesn’t look forced. He puts the books down within reach. As he smiles Tom feels almost like he could relax, which is exactly the opposite of how he should be feeling. Harry after all destroyed a part of his soul. He immediately feels irritated and confused. There is no reason the other should invoke some sort of strange calming feeling. 

“Dumbledore put you up to this didn’t he.” He tests.

“He talked with you too huh about not burning bridges and all that.” Harry steps only a little away. “It's not like he asked me to be nice to you, just understanding. I mean you dropped 53 years into the future, have no wand, and were tortured so there's that. He had to remind me that you're not Voldemort, and I suppose that I have to tell myself that as well. But the diary you made did hurt me too and that version of you was calling itself Riddle before pulling the Voldemort card.” 

“Is this your attempt at an apology because it is spectacularly awful.” Tom narrowed his eyes. Not trusting him in the slightest. 

“No, it's my offer to just start over, forget the chosen one and the possible future Voldemort roles.” Harry held out his hand. “My name is Harry Potter.”

He stared at that hand for a few seconds before shaking it. “Tom Marvolo Riddle.”


	5. Pride

Harry found Tom's hand to be cold. Actually, his whole demeanor seems to be that way. He remembered then and there as he felt the firm squeeze of his fingers that Voldemort had claimed that attachments were weaknesses. When he had almost died to the mad man the last time, he had said it was the very reason that Harry would lose. Harry had claimed he felt Sorry that Voldemort would never know love or friendship. And he can see how at a length Tom tries to keep even those that are trying to help him or were helping him. 

For the rest of the day as he kills time. He finds his mind drifting to the upstairs bedroom. Where there was a boy his age, that had made horrible choices already. He had killed Myrtle and his own family members. While Harry had hated the Dursleys, he would never kill them. Curse them maybe… but never kill them. 

Still, he wondered how a person becomes okay with such things? 

He wonders if hands had reached out earlier if it would have changed. 

He wonders if Tom had been taken advantage of by people he left close, or so disappointed that he had given up on ever caring for others, or trying to form attachments. Maybe he never wanted to open himself up to the possibility, his frosty exterior chasing them away. Harry understood wanting to chase others away. At one point he had felt that the more that a person cared the more that they had to lose. He had lost so much. So very much that it hurt to think about. Luna, dear Luna, of all people had told him that was a very poor way to think of it. Being isolated, alone, made a person far weaker. Tom was quickly burning his bridges with all that came in contact with him, though Harry wouldn’t say that they were the most welcoming to him. 

He feels guilty slighting in that regard. He shouldn’t, he shouldn’t he knows it because there is the chance that it will all go wrong and that Tom can use what he learned to stab them in the back. He was a killer and could do so again. Harry doesn’t know why he doesn’t want to believe that Tom would try it here. 

He wonders if Dumbledore’s idea that Tom could change, and stop himself from going down further that darker path. Perhaps it's because they are similar he feels some sort of need to make that possible. They both grew up without love and perhaps if he was to show him some decency then it could change things. Perhaps that was what Dumbledore meant by it was important to befriend him for reasons besides information. Tom was smart enough to probably know what Dumbledore wanted that out of him. And perhaps would change just not to become a lunatic. 

Or Maybe Tom really was just not capable of feeling anything for anyone but himself and Harry was putting way too much thought into this matter. There was always that possibility. 

Still to never know love, to never have friends seems like a life that was ultimately wasted. Harry had been thinking about it long after he brought the books up. Long after he had decided that he was going to take Ginny’s place in taking the meals to him. 

“I am not scared of him,” Ginny said watching as Harry made a plate for their guest. “I am not 11 anymore.” 

“I know.” Harry can’t look at her sometimes, their break up still haunts him in many ways. He still would try to protect her, die for her really. She had evolved from the person he had a crush on and just Ron’s sister. They had tried but she had started to see Harry as more and more like her brothers, with just his simple want to keep her safe. She didn’t exactly appreciate it. She wanted him to see her as an equal, and in many ways he had, did, but even if he said that she didn’t truly believe him. Their painful break-off was only heightened with the war and of course Voldemort. 

Her eyes narrow.

“I know.” He repeats kindly. “But I also know that it's not easy on you, especially since he tried to pull you into conversation earlier. He looks like him, sounds like him, and I don’t doubt is actually like the diary in a lot of ways.”

She huffs. “I do appreciate you taking up the task for today, but don’t think that you need to do it always. Right now there isn't much that he could do besides play mind games to try and get things he wants. And it would be a cold day in hell before I hand him a wand. I already told Dumbledore that.” 

Harry smiles, “I don’t doubt that you would hex him quite well if he tried to convince you.” 

He had not known that she had talked to Dumbledore. He wanderers if she had been asked a similar favor. Befriend Tom, if Harry and the others couldn’t. She had yet to strike a match against the other and could have been a good candidate. Ginny was bright, strong-willed, a fire in both personality and spirit. Harry still thought that she was the most beautiful girl in the world. Anyone would have been lucky to hold onto her for a fleeting moment. Even if he wanted Riddle wouldn’t have had a chance. She catches his soft eyes and puts her hand on his shoulder. 

“I already told him his charm wouldn’t work on me. I really mean it. After Diary Tom I can almost see the cursive writing when he talks in a trying to be subtle manner. Please don’t worry about me.” 

She gives him a nice pat before pulling away, misinterpreting his expression.

~/*\~

Tom hears a knock on his door, he sits up expecting Ginny, only to notice the person that he would rather not see. The wild black hair is swept to the side and the lighting bolt glares at him. 

“I brought you food.” He says.

“Did Ginevra decide not to come?” Tom raises an eyebrow. “I expected her to, she seemed a bit braver than the other.” 

“Hermione.” Harry automatically corrects for him. 

“Yes, her, is she Ravenclaw?” Tom tilts his head. “She was a bit timid.”

“No she's Gryffindor, trust me make her mad and she will show it something fierce.” Harry sets the plate down. “We all tease her about it to be honest. She was before all this considered to be the Brightest Witch of the Age.”

“Really,” Tom says boredly. 

“Really.” Harry pauses by the bedside. He looks around the room as if looking for something to say. 

Tom just sighs. “If you're going to just stand there awkwardly, you might as well just sit awkwardly.” He points at the chair near him. “I need to ask you about something anyway.”

Harry smiles slightly, sitting down. Tom’s not exactly sure why but he is starting to hate that smile a little. It's just not natural for someone that was literally kryptonite to his future self to have some sort of effect on him. He doesn’t even know him. He was a bratty child that expected him to feel sympathy for another orphan like himself. But then Harry was the only one that seemed completely unafraid of him. He was angry at him and hostile, but there was no fear to him. Voldemort must really have loved the idea of breaking the other.

“So?” Harry prompted. And Tom knows he has been staring too long he turns his gaze back towards the far wall. 

“I know we said we’d put the whole future Voldemort and Chosen one thing behind us, but Dumbledore informed me that my diary was destroyed and that both you and Ginevra played a role.”

“And?” Harry raised an eyebrow. Tom wanted to curse him. 

“And I want to know how.”

“Just how, you don’t want to know why?” Harry asked almost jokingly. 

“I can guess why, he is why, killing him is important.” Tom pushes. “I just want to know how did you destroy a Horcrux?”

“To be honest we didn’t know what it was, I was twelve at the time. So after that version decided to inform me all about his wonderful Muggle father he set the snake on me. I killed the basilisk and stabbed the book with a fang.”

“You were twelve and you killed my Basilisk?” He can't believe it. He forgets to hold himself to higher standards than someone his age typically had. He sounds so childish but he demands to know. “How?” 

“With a sword.” 

Tom blinks, waiting for more before he scowls deeply. “If you are going to lie to me, forget that I asked you.” 

Harry actually has the audacity to laugh. “I dropped my wand when I went to Ginny's side, and you… it picked it up. The only weapon there was available was a sword. So I stabbed it right when it opened its mouth to bite me. I was dying from the venom and your diary just had to be a dick then and there one last time, insulting my mother and saying I would be with her soon. So I just stabbed the book, I wanted to take him with me.”

It's such a crazy story, but the thing is he believes it. He believes Harry is telling him the truth. He doesn't know how or why, but it's like he can tell without stooping to more underhanded methods.

“How does Ginny play into this?” Tom encourages him to continue his rather unique tale of events. 

“Your diary possessed her. Once it was dead, the spell on her broke.” Harry’s smile falters just a little seeming to remember the very real scary part. 

Tom nodded. “That was all I needed, you may go now.” 

He doesn’t like the way the other looks now, sad, and no doubt ready to remember why he should not like Tom. It was best not to be around someone that could curse him. Even though he never did such a thing to the other, nor could see himself doing such a thing.

To use his diary wastefully to open the chamber was just foolish it would have been better to carefully drain the victim and get his body back. 

“Just like that?” Harry snorts, “No other burning questions? You just wanted to know how one kills a Horcrux?”

“I doubt that you would entertain me with tales of your bravery all night.” Tom takes a look at the offered food. Some sort of pot roast and some vegetables. He makes no move to reach for it. It would probably not agree with him. 

“I could if you were that bored.” Harry shrugs. He makes no move to get up and Tom wonders if Harry is actually enjoying talking to him. It's hard to read this Harry, just when he thinks he has the other pinned down he surprises him with books and answers his questions.

“Hardly.” Tom lies. No, he was that board, not enough that he would enjoy it, but at the very least he would find out more about his future self and Harry Potter. “I am not interested in listening to you brag.”

“They sound grand to some people but I consider my brushes with death to be anything but entertaining. I got lucky on many occasions. It's actually relieving to hear that you don’t want to hear all about them.” 

“You're not proud of your achievements?” Tom can’t imagine not being at least a bit proud of beating such a monster as his snake and then doing battle with a part of him at 12. Harry also was only 16 and apparently Voldemort's most hated enemy. He had to do something worse than Dumbledore to earn that title. He must have tried to kill him many more times than just as a baby...

“Right achievements.” Harry sighs interrupting his thoughts. “I unlocked being able to survive slightly better than most and get up after a few crucios. “

“And that isn't something that should be praised.” Tom raises an eyebrow. 

Harry shrugs again. He doesn’t look proud or even that confident. “I don’t know really. Most of it was luck and the main thing I am praised for was what my mother did for me. She sacrificed herself for me, and that ancient magic was what rebounded the killing curse.” 

“I see so that's how he died the first time.” Tom wasn’t sure if he would have thought to use such ancient but true magic, but he also never would have gone after the prophesied child as that was a guaranteed way to get killed because if they survived they would come after him with a vengeance. He wonders if his future self was that confident in his own abilities to try and kill the other, or if he was that despite. 

Harry nods. “And if he wasn’t insane before then, he certainly became it being a bodiless ghost thing. I still get nightmares of him sticking off of the back of Quirrell's head.” 

“Excuse me?” The comment sending Tom reeling, he held up his hand. “What!” 

~/*\~

Harry ended up telling him all about his first year at Hogwarts and a little about his second. He finds often that being open with people is the best way in which to connect with them. Tom is a very intent listener. He seems to almost forget that his face can or should change expressions. Those brown eyes hardly blink and he makes little comments. He has a dry, dark sense of humor, that is reminiscent of Voldemort but not the type that bordered on malicious. Harry finds him easy to talk to, which might be a bad thing. There was always the chance to say something that should not be mentioned and with the way that Tom seems to take note of things, hangs on to every detail. He wouldn’t be one to forget and not have it to use later in whatever way he needed it. He distinctly remembers Slughorn's memory of pineapple squares being his favorite and how the other had never mentioned it.

They shift to Quidditch after Tom notes the book included in his stack. He doesn't share Harry’s love for the broom. In that way, he reminds him of Hermione in his need to explain that there was no use to fly. His rant about how the snitch was pointless and ruined the game was very interesting. Tom apparently, despite not liking Muggles, like at all, did like their music, novels, and baseball. Harry tries to picture a littler Tom playing catch against a wall or hitting the ball and running after it to hit it again. He knew for a fact that the other children probably weren’t inclusive to him. The night ticks on and Harry realizes that he has spent hours in the other’s presence and had partially enjoyed it.

He must have been going slightly mad...

“Here It seemed you forgot to eat or I forgot to attempt to have you try it.” Harry does a warm-up charm and hands him the plate. He can see the way that Tom’s hand shakes. It's his wand hand, and he knows that it's not an act. Even in a deceptive form, Voldemort would never have pretended to be weak. Nor would Tom Riddle. It would have broken all that he is.

He feels a stab of pity for the other. 

“You really are not scared of me or him?” Tom noticed his expression.

“I think there is some fear of him. Harry considers. I have seen many things he has done, heard about more, it would be a lie to say that I wasn’t scared of what he is capable of. I respect his power but fear what he is to do with it, his actions rather if that makes sense. I am not scared of you. Not at all, sorry to disappoint.”

“I figured that,” Tom muttered. 

“Sorry you're my age and I have faced much worse.”

"I have faced my share of horror too." The way that he says it Harry doesn’t doubt it. 

“Right.” He shifts awkwardly. “I should probably let you rest and eat.” He stands and heads towards the door. He risks a look back and he sees Tom holding far too hard the plate. Their eyes meet and Harry can feel that cold sweep in. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” Tom glares at him and as he doesn’t respond he continues. “Don’t look at me with sad pathetic eyes. I don’t want it.”

“I can't help it,” Harry admits it's the wrong thing to say, even if it's the honest one.

“I don’t want your pity. I never wanted it.” Tom spits at him going completely onto the defensive. 

“You have it anyway. Even in his current state, I pity Voldemort and what caused him to become the thing that he is. I hate Voldemort, but I don’t hate you.”

Harry decides to leave on that note, because if he pushes anymore than he has, he isn’t sure what will happen. 

~/*\~

_It was dark, cold, wet. There are thick stones that surround and block out all light. The air is thick and hard to breathe. Each breath brings in the scent of age and death. He can see a thin white wand being raised, and a flash of green. Green that is so bright that it is almost blinding. A man falls dead long before he hits the ground. He is wearing clothes that are not familiar. The person that is too tall then turns quickly. The room spins with movement as his bare feet touch the stones near him.._

_“Where is it?” The figure in a black cloak hisses. Turning the wand towards a grinning old man._

_“You’ll never be worthy of it. It’s his, the one you fear.” The man doesn’t seem scared at all he just laughs. Laughs even as the wand is raised again and a signal word is drawn out._

He wakes with a start clutching his chest, it burns, the quick movement feels like he has torn his side. His ribs give a painful reminder of their power over him, and his weakness at the moment. He coughs hard and braces himself against the headboard. 

What the hell was that?

He takes a few more deep breaths, putting a sweaty hand to his head. He has never had a nightmare in such clarity, though he isn’t even sure it was a nightmare. That voice was in it, that monster’s voice yes, but he was killing random people Tom should not have been scared of that. His one fear was his own dead body, crushed under some rubble because of the world war or blown to bits because of foolish Muggles. He had a wand at the time of course, but no good way to protect himself. The lack of control was very reminiscent of how things were now.

Was that why?

It had just felt so real. 

Tom shakes his head, trying to clear it. Nothing in the dream made any sense, but yet at the same time it seemed almost important as he had dreamed it so vividly. What would his future self be searching for and who was the one person that he feared? Tom doubted that it was himself because Voldemort took a twisted sense of pleasure in pointing out how weak and useless he was without a wand. It could be Dumbledore, as Tom had a very real fear of what the old man could do to him or planned. Now though he has to wonder if it is Harry. His future self certainly wanted the prophesied child out of the way. He did not claim though to know what that prophecy said. He also could be overreacting to such a strange dream.

~/*\~

Harry's scar burns as he pulls himself from the bed. He knows that this sick feeling in his gut is not going to go away anytime soon. He isn’t sure how the dream had slipped past his mind shields but the searing pain tells him that his latest dream that he remembers fragmented pieces from was in fact memories from Voldemort. He isn’t sure if the other realized he had shared that information or not. 

It was always possible that it was Harry unconsciously drifting towards the other's mind. He doesn’t claim to understand the connection that he shares with the other, but he does need to figure out if what he saw was important and or factual. 

He gets up running a hand through his hair. He can feel the sweat and the tangles threatening to keep his fingers there, but he pulls it through a few times. He always felt so violated when this happened. It was worse when the onslaught came when he was awake enough to know that there other was going to slam into his mind wards in an attempt to see his memories or drive him mad with fake visions of his friends being murdered or tortured. 

He pauses when he passes Tom’s door. The light is on, which is rather strange considering the time. He might ask the other about it later. There is no way that the textbooks that he had lent him were that interesting to stay up and read. Not even Hermione would have done that unless there was an exam.

~/*\~

Tom scrubs at his face, he doesn’t let the tiredness overtake him. Mrs. Weasley is kind enough to point out to him that he looks sickly. She blames it on him not eating enough and dares to scold him for not attempting to take as good of care of himself as he should.

It’s not his fault that his future self's snake face kept haunting his dreams. Not that he would tell her that. Nor would he tell her that he just wasn’t used to eating as much as she kept trying to force-feed him. He was used to two smaller meals at Hogwarts, and at Wools one meal if he was lucky. Things had been hard after the first world war and things had been worse after the second one had started. 

“You should also get some fresh air in here.” She opened up the windows, nearly blinding him with the light. He covered his eyes.

“Don’t be dramatic dear, it will be good for you.”

He scowls at her.

“And it wouldn’t hurt you to try and smile. Your face is going to stick that way.”

It would save a lot of trouble if it would. Maybe then people would take the hint and leave him alone. 

Ginerva brings him his breakfast and a bag. He had expected Harry, he was only mildly disappointed with the result and he hates that he is. Damn Harry for being the only interesting person in the house. 

“You didn’t come last night.” He decides to play games again and get other sides to the story’s that Harry has told him. More details about other things. Plans or even other books than the ones he has. None of them involve Time travel nor do they involve history.

“Harry beat me to it.” She says plainly. “I did manage to raid wardrobes and put together what would probably be a week's worth ensemble.” She puts a bundle down by the bed and hands him the bowel. More bland oatmeal. He takes a small bite. 

“What no thank you?” She smiles, but it falters as Tom is busying himself with watching Harry glide past his door followed by a red-headed boy and then finally brown bushy hair. 

“You know I did look into getting you books that pertain to your situation.” She draws him back easily with that. “We don’t have anything like that topic wise. I could bring other books though than textbooks.” 

“Of which topics?” He is curious enough to ask.

“Nothing dark so don’t get too excited. When the place was first introduced as a headquarters, the place was combed over. Got rid of anything that would be considered problematic, but we do have some history books laying around and a few old papers. I might be inclined to hand those over.”

“In exchange for what?” He waits patiently for her to name something reasonable. 

“Ever the Slytherin.” Ginny sighed boredly. “I don’t want anything.”

“Everyone wants something.” Tom disagrees.

“Perhaps some niceties.” She poked at one of the books by the bedside. “Effective Applications of Country Plants, in Potions and Alchemy.” She read the title out loud. 

“It’s a riveting read, absolutely fascinating.” Tom smiles. 

“I would learn to like things like that.” She looks back at him taking note of hids tone. “The darkest thing you would find is the last few newspapers here.”

“Which I can have.” Tom reminds her. He is looking forward to catching up on everything that he has missed. He doesn’t want to be in the dark about anything. 

“Which I will bring you, in exchange for some pleasantries.” She agrees easily. “I like to think of it as you get as good as you give. Be polite and grateful and I'll bring better things.”

“Thank you, dear Ginerva.” He gives his brightest of smiles, knowing full well that she wouldn’t fall for it. 

“I said nicer, not sickeningly fake.” She scrunches her nose. 

He laughs, softly. 

“You know it wouldn’t kill you to be pleasant.” She heads towards the door. 

“And wouldn’t benefit me all that much, either,” Tom smirks. “As there aren't things besides history books and the newspapers that I would want to read. And you have already agreed to bring those to me.” 

“I could stop bringing you meals.” 

“I am sure that your mother wouldn’t let me starve.” He counters. Harry had brought him one as well, so there was always the chance that the other would come in Molly’s and Ginny’s place. 

“Speaking of that, does the food not please you, your mighty lordship? You don’t often finish what you're given.” She has stopped near feet from the door. 

“I don’t feel much like eating is that allowed?” Tom plays with his spoon. 

“Why don’t you feel like eating?” Her brow furrowed. 

“What is this an interrogation?” Tom tilted his head. 

“No just wondering, Dumbledore would be worried if you were sicker than you were letting on. But if it was because of the taste or something I would have to remind you that we're all barely getting by and we can't afford to be wasting it.” She holds onto the doorframe, studying the wood. 

He can understand that. They can’t risk making unnecessary trips to places when Voldemort would be using all the resources he had available to find at least one person close enough to use against Harry. He would stake out places that could be of use to the order as well.

“I'm not used to eating this much.” He mumbles no longer interested in trying to get her to do anything for him other than what she was. She wouldn’t be too fun to mess with either, not like that Hermione girl. “Just lesson the portions if you're worried.” 

“I would then worry about you not getting enough, the other you looks like a skeleton. Don’t try and achieve that look here.” Her tone hinted that perhaps she cared more than she was letting on, or that she pitied him like apparently, Harry did. She gave him one more look over and left. 

He slowly brought the oatmeal to his lips, the least he could do was eat. 

~/*\~ 

Sirius is late. Harry paces the living room. The action seems to be driving Ron mad by the way that he watches him. 

“He will check in mate.” He tries again and Harry does his best not to snap at the other for his less than helpful words. He knows that Ron is just trying to help, Hermione is too. She tried to convince Harry to write Dumbledore about his dream. But Harry doesn’t remember enough details about it to tell if it's something to be too worried about. 

He knows that Voldemort might be looking for something, but he can’t say definitively what that something is. Nor can he tell who the people that were killed were or where they were killed. It looked to be just another one of the manors holding cells. 

No, the only thing that matters to him is where Sirius was. The man is the only family he considered himself to still have. It's maddening to think that the other could be in danger and he had no way to know and no good way to help him.

So the day passes with great slowness. He has nothing in which to take his attention away from the more and more worrisome time frame. Sirius should have checked in by now. He should at least have sent some word, even a Patronus, or a tap on their 2-way mirror.

~/*\~

Harry stays up late but is eventually chased back upstairs by Mrs. Weasley. Tom’s door is shut, which he finds odd. He knocks once and opens the door as there is no answer.

Tom seems to be having a war with his shirt, a new one that is just a plain gray one. It probably was Charlies as its larger and would have to be to fit Tom’s tall but very twig-like figure. It's by this action that he sees the mitch match scars that travel across really all of him. They poke out between bandages around his chest. Mrs. Weasley said that he would be as good as new in a few days, no more bed rest needed as the curse that had caused it, seemed to have lessened under Dumbledore’s healer's instructions. Still, there are a lot of marks that are not unlike Harry’s own. Tales shredded into flesh. 

“Need help?” He tries to make his voice work, sound more cheerful than it actually was. Dark eyes bore into his. 

"No."

"It looks like you are struggling, though." Harry stepped closer. 

“I don’t want help. He says stubbornly.

“Wanting help and needing it are two different things.” Sirius’s words come back to Harry at that moment. “It's alright to ask if you need it.” 

“Like there's anyone to ask. I’m checked on what is it 3 times a day?” Tom curses forcing his one arm through.

Harry decides to help him anyway, and his hand is slapped for his effort. The important part though was he did help the other finish putting his injured hand through the hole and pull the shirt down to cover the damaged side. Tom doesn’t say thank you. He is breathing hard and looks like he wants to kill Harry for touching him. 

“You're welcome.” Harry sits in the nearby chair. 

“To be clear.” Tom’s lip curls. “I didn’t need help.” 

“It doesn’t make you weak to admit you need it, you know that right?” Harry leans a little forward. “And if you want we can check on you more often. The only thing keeping that from happening seems to be your seeming death glare for anyone that comes in here.”

“Right of course it's all me.” Tom rolls his eyes. “None of you wished for me to be left in the dungeons of Malfoy manor or to be cast out in my injured state.” 

“Dumbledore vouched for you, so most in the house would be more than willing to help you because of that.” 

“Is that your purpose for helping, because it would be what Dumbledore would have wanted?” Tom sneers.

“No, I did that because I wanted to.” Harry shrugged. “I like helping people.” 

“Gryffindors,” Tom mutters and seemingly curses under his breath. 

“Yes Gryffindors, near all of us, so this isn’t Slytherin where they will cannibalize you for supposed weaknesses, or expect you to pay them back for kindnesses.” Harry sighed. 

“If you think that Dumbledore isn’t being kind to me, or trying to force people to be kind to me not to gain something than you are far more foolish than you appear to be.” Tom counters. “All help has prices. I might not be able to be of full use at the moment but the time will come. Dumbledore will ask it of me. Just as he pulled those he called friends into meddling with Grindelwald.” 

Harry rubs at his forehead. “Look I know that you and Dumbledore don’t get along, but even if he does expect something down the road. Is it not better than the alternative for now?”

“I would take this cell to the one I was in before, but I don’t wish to be indebted worse than I am." Tom counters.

Harry just sighs. "I can see that standpoint to an extent. Sometimes though kindness is just that kindness. There needs not to be a payment back. It's something that I have had to work on as it seemed to me a little while ago that people were just dying to protect me. And now I understand that it's their choice, it's not just for me they are fighting for but to push back against all that are like Voldemort."

He knows there is pain that has entered his voice by the way that Tom tilts his head at him. "Doesn't stop the guilt or useless feeling does it?"

Harry doesn't know if Tom says that to seem sympathetic as a manipulative tactic or he himself is being open enough to admit that he has some guilt over kindnesses. "No, it doesn't."

There is a brief pause of uncomfortable silence.

"You know Ginny promised to bring me history books. The ones that you have here are at least 20 years old. The only thing seemingly up to date are the newspaper articles." Tom shifts topics. "I don't think your magical history textbook is any different than the one that I was using 50 some years ago."

Harry laughs "Binns is still teaching, even with a death eater run the school, I am sure he s still prattling on like normal."

"There is no way that he is still alive." Tom shakes his head. "He would have to be nearing 200 for that."

"Oh, he isn't alive, he died and then left his body behind and continued to teach." Harry gestured as if he was bins with his ruler pointing to the board. 

"That..." Tom almost seems to want to laugh but catches himself. "I pity anyone's education in that class." He finishes somewhat dignified.

"Trust me, no one was looking into advanced studies of history, I can't think of one that has happened in my years at Hogwarts." Harry agrees. 

"And unless they banish him, I am sure that no one ever will." Tom sighed before adding, "I admit that the old man turned me off learning about most things. He even made the Goblin Wars and talk of Egyptian early Magic boring."

"I would read the test ahead and then just skip out on class. it wasn't like he noticed us goofing off." Harry smiles at easier times. "Or you know we would just sleep."

"We used to hex each other under the desks. He never noticed, nor did he care." Tom smiled, what felt like a real one at that. "I still would like better history books."

"I can see if anyone can pick any up, they might be Muggle," Harry warned. "Not much has happened on the Wizarding end of things. All the policies that were placed to benefit Muggle Borns have been removed in favor of Voldemorts and his 'friends' new policies."

Molly knocked at the door. "As nice as it is to see you both getting along, I thought I sent you to bed Harry, and you Tom you need to rest. You will not heal otherwise." 

"I'll be in bed momentarily." Harry waved his hands in fake surrender. 

"I'm already in bed, and all I do is rest, Mrs. Weasley." Tom manages to make his statement almost sound respectful.

She shook her head at that and left. Harry made no move to leave. He waited till her footsteps have long since faded.

~/*\~

Harry turns back to him. "Speaking of bed, last night I noticed you had a light on at around 3 am, did you sleep at all."

"Some." Tom answers vaguely. "what were you doing up at that time?"

"Sometimes I have bad dreams." Harry shrugged.

Tom narrowed his eyes. "What sorts of dreams?" He doesn't know why but he had a sudden chill. 

"I don't know dark lords killing people and demanding people to give him things or do things for him. The usual." Harry's sarcasm is not lost on him.

"Last night did you... " Tom trails off, catching himself before he said anything stupid.

"Did I what?" Harry now seems very interested in what he was going to say. Damn.

"Its nothing. I am sure it's unimportant." Tom waves his good hand to dismiss the idea.

"Yes because when a person's face goes blank like that and they say its nothing, I shouldn't be at all concerned."

Tom shrugged, "It was just a dream. It doesn't have to mean anything, talking about it might give it meaning."

"That sounds an awful lot like divinations."Harrys shakes his head.

"I was reading the textbooks you gave me earlier if you recall." Tom drawled.

Harry rolls his eyes. "What I mean is did you dream of Voldemort, killing 2 people? He was demanding something out of one of them in my dream." 

Harry was looking intently at him as he doesn't respond, the silence probably proof enough. 

He had, he had seen that. His face shows some sign even though he doesn't mean to allow it to.

"You did," Harry said in disbelief. "That means you have a connection to him as well. I mean it makes sense for you... your his past self..." 

He starts rambling in a way that Tom can't keep up with as its fast, and there are references to things that he has no way to pick context up from.

"Potter." He finally pokes the other. "If you are done rambling like a madman. Enlighten me."

And so Harry tells him a bit more about the prophecy, how he is connected in a small way to Voldemort, and that Voldemort sometimes shared in moments of extreme anger memories with him. Tom listens intently. A few explanations arising that he will need to do more tests with to be sure. 

"I see, you fear that he can use me as well." Tom can almost sense the horror that revelation would have for anyone else in the home. Two people, if they didn't shield their mind could give out helpful information unwittingly, and unwillingly to the enemy. 

"It's a direct possibility." Harry stares at him. "You know it is." 

"And here I was thinking that I was safe from him for just a little while," Tom mutters. 

"He does that." Harry's eyes soften. "Makes you think he is everywhere, that nowhere is safe. Severus said it was his favorite tactic to drive people to madness by entering and messing with there heads."

All the times that he was trying to look into animal minds and in other people's heads to see surface-level thoughts are coming back to bite him. He wants to say that he isn't scared of the creature, but he is near positive that Harry wouldn't believe him. He isn't so sure that he believes himself in that regard. Its hard to even stomach food knowing that he could become something like that. If he strips away the Horcruxes, he can count himself close to being that thing that Voldemort is, the only difference is Tom hadn't split his soul into completely nothing and he had not lost his sanity. He knows full well that he is capable of cruelty, cursing, and even murder. He has done it before. He didn't retreat it in the slightest. Perhaps that is what he truly fears what he would become should he loose the very few things holding him back. Because fundamentally he did not disagree with all that Voldemort wanted to accomplish, just the method. 

Maybe that really did make him evil...

"Shielding your mind helps." Harry misinterprets his silence. 

"Occlumency." Tom knows it, not well enough to fed off Voldemort but well enough.

Before Harry can say anything else on the matter Mrs. Weasley is wrapping at the wall. "Go to bed."

~/*\~

Tom can hear the distinct sound of tapping on floorboards. He is used to Wools creaking when the other children would get close to his room. He creaks and eye wondering if it's just someone headed to the bathroom, loudly. 

His eyes fly open, as something heavy hits the stairs. He can hear someone moving, or rather crashing into the wall. This isn't exactly the time to be brave, but he can't help but note that the sound is getting closer, stopping near his open door. Any closer and he will be for sure seen. He weakly tries to stand bracing himself against the nightstand and then the wall. Not moving for too long, and still being a bit achy in the side had its drawbacks. He moves slowly forward to peer outside of his door. There is a Dog, a massive black one, bleeding from the mouth and side.

The grim. 

He takes a step back and falls hard onto his ass. The dog looks at him, amber red eyes look at his. The dog takes a few steps forward, sways, and vomits blood onto him. A low growl admitting from the beast. 

He doesn't know why it took him so long but he manages a shout for help, because young, aspiring, powerful people did not scream quite as he did in that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quiet was nice while it lasted.


	6. Black

Screaming, It's no way to be woken up in the middle of the night, and by the sounds of it, someone screaming bloody murder. He for a moment sits there upright in his bed wondering exactly what was going on, and if he was still dreaming. As he hears others start to get up and banging of a door being slammed open and hitting the wall and no doubt closing by the force. his brain finally clicked that something was wrong. He's the second one to make it to the hall. Ron is scrambling behind him. It was Ginny that was first on scene wand raised with a Lumos. Harry fumbled with his own before lighting it. She is cautiously stepping over the blood that has dripped into a small puddle. 

There is blood everywhere at the end of the hall by Tom's room coming up the stairs. 

Pawprints, running through it. 

Sirius! His mind screams at him. 

"Grim." And another really loud scream. "Help." 

Harry recognizes the scream to be Toms now. The scream he had heard as part of him was dying when he stabbed the fang into the diary. It's not something that one hopes to ever hear again and is no less haunting being screamed in the very early hours of the day. 

"He's one of us." Harry runs forward as fast as he is able to clamber over Ginny and shoving his way into the room. Tom has scooted away from Sirius, who is whining, much like a real dog. His side is a mess. "Tom gave me something to help with the blood."

The Slytherin is paler in the soft light of his Lumos. He slowly reaches his feet as Harry whips his wand to get the lights. Ginny already ripping the sheets off the bed as Tom just manages to reach it, and yank it loose on the other side to help her. 

Harry presses hard against the wound, feeling his hands become slick with blood. This really isn’t good.

“What yah do to em.” Ron looks at Tom who is to his credit trying to help be it slowly in bringing the sheet over. His face is contorted so it's obvious that he is slightly in pain. His help isn’t really needed as it really just slows Ginny down. 

“He did nothing, Ron, get Remus he is about as good as it gets for healing." Harry all but commands. He doesn’t have time for this. 

“You better not have cursed him.” Ron snaps at Tom before he takes off and there is the sound of someone borrowing down the stairs.

“Put the cloth over.” Ginny moves Harry's hands. 

“I didn't curse him.” Tom finally seems to regain his sense of thought. His clothes are bloody, but that's probably because this bedroom usually was for guests and Sirius had stumbled in trying to find anyone that would have possibly been able to help. 

“I know you didn't, you don't have a wand, you haven't left the room.” Harry snaps.

Tom flushes, slightly or perhaps he is getting color back into his cheeks. “He is one of yours?”

“Animagus.” Ginny doesn't take her hands off the wound. 

“He probably is bleeding internally too.” Tom bends down slowly to get a better look. “He was throwing up blood like I did when I first was cursed.”

“Or he bit someone's fingers off.” Ginny points to the blood on the floor and there are chunks that seem to be flesh. She looks like she is going to be sick. Harry can second that feeling. Tom doesn't do much then stare at it, his face unchanging. His brown eyes unwavering, before he looks back at Harry. 

Sirius lets out another whine, tail thumping against the ground as if to tell him not to worry. 

Harry can't lose him too. He pressed harder, the blood was slowing but not by much. He couldn’t have had much blood left. 

“Why doesn't he change back?” Ginny whispers.

“I'd imagine the area might be fatal to a person but not to a dog. When you change shape, everything, even your organs, move with it.” Tom says calmly and cooly almost like he is reading from a textbook.

“That is correct Riddle is it?” Remus has entered the room. Tom looked at him with judging eyes, the claw marks are not easily missed. He wonders if Tom hated werewolves like he did Muggles. Remus though looks horribly shaken by the sight of Sirius. His wand is tighter gripped in his hand. 

“Can you help him?” Harry asks worriedly. 

“I can try.” Remus motions for them to move and lifts up the sheet. "You really have gotten yourself into something, haven't you?" He whispers to his friend, his voice was horribly pained. 

Sirius snorts. 

“Yes, I am sure that if you could say so you would give me excuses or tell me that you're fine.” Lupin tries to make light of it, and Harry almost feels like he is seconds away from crying. 

Remus performs simple healing spells, enough to help with the wound and stitch it closed. Sirius has by this time fallen into a sleep that is anything but peaceful. 

“It's all that I can do for now. He’ll make it of that I'm sure.” Remus pats Harry’s shoulder, and blood sticks to it. “ I'll call for someone better than me to look over him.” 

He seemed to be lying at that. Harry can just pick up on it. Molly and Arthur help to move Sirius to his room. Harry followers quickly after them, he can feel piercing brown eyes follow him out of the room. Ron and Hermione are ushered off to bed. Molly thankfully is not dumb enough to try it on him. 

~/*\~

“Riddle are you alright?” The man he knows as Moony or Remus as Harry calls him speaks almost spooking him with how quiet everything had become. He almost misses the sound of that detestable name. 

“That name bothers you, does it?” The man tilts his head. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tom defects.

“I believe you do, the name Riddle irritates you why?” Remus tilted his head, there are more marks on his neck. Tom studies them, tracing them with his eyes. Was everyone in this home good at picking out emotions or was it just because he is a werewolf and has the ability to sense these sorts of things.

“Does Moony bother you?” He tries to throw him off with the nickname Bella called him but it doesn’t seem to phase him. Instead, it makes the other smile.

“I rather am fond of it actually.”

“Why it's rude, insulting even considering what you are.” Tom is offended for him. 

“It was a name my friends gave me, sometimes I like it even more than my own.” Tom scowls thinking of his nicknames and the one he created. All are terrible. He remains sitting on the floor, trying to decide if he cared about what happened to the bed that he had been confined to if it was worth the issues to change and attempt to dab the blood off. “But you don’t like yours, why?”

“It's ordinary, there are a lot of Toms in my time. Riddle is muggle for another.” 

“Ah.” Remus nodded as if he understood and Tom knew full well that he didn’t. No one really could unless they were from when he was, the pressures to conform, the hierarchy of things, it was deep-rooted. He would never have gone anywhere if he had not been able to prove he was a Half-blood. 

“Is that why you tried to fashion yourself another name. I was always curious.” Remus tied to make conversation as he set about cleaning spells. Voldemort is quite the new name.

“Don’t mock me.” Tom stood. “It is a name that only few utter so it becomes something, even if it was not what I originally intended it for.”

“No you just named yourself vicious death, and thief of death for no other reason then it sounded cool.” The man raised an eyebrow. 

Tom felt his face heat, he looked elsewhere other than the man's blue eyes. “Why do people call him all those other names? He relishes it by the way.”

He switched the topic. 

“Voldemort? It was considered Taboo. In the first war, they had put a curse on it. To speak Lord Voldemort's name was to give Death Eaters a way into your home or to the location. No one wanted to court death nor entice it. The first war was very dark times, the second has started to reach the same level of evil.” 

“Maybe I did achieve something…” Tom mutters. He had achieved a one-way ticket to hell if the second war was not as bad as the first one. 

“I wouldn’t be too pleased with it.” Remus finishes up, the room returning to almost perfect condition as if nothing had ever happened. He would have counted it possibly as a bad dream if there wasn’t blood sticking to his face. “May I?” 

Remus gestures at him. 

Tom manages not to flinch as his clothes clean themselves. He is then handed a wet washcloth. “This will help with the blood elsewhere.”

“A bath would probably be just as helpful.” Tom replays tersely, wiping at his hands. 

“It’s down the hall. I assume that you don’t need assistance since you helped with Sirius?” 

“I think I will be fine.” Tom grips the poll to the canopy bed. 

“There will be towels under the sink,” Remus says leaving him standing there. 

The silence in the room was startling after the commotion, and then the brief conversation. It was like the quiet was deafening, suffocating even. He had never been fearful of the stillness before, but it was all-encompassing and empty. Tom found he didn't want to be alone, how ridiculous was that?

He didn’t even like these people. No, he hated most of them, not like Voldemort and Bella, they had a special level of hatred reserved for them. But this order he couldn’t like any of them because they did not like him. Kind only because it benefited them currently or they were just that fool hearted enough to pity him. And when he looked into the mirror, he found that there was much to pity.

His eyes had sunken into his face by the bags under them. He had always been pale but the way he had not tested properly showed. He looked like a ghoul. He ran a hand through his hair, it was greasy and tangled. The worst thing was the mark left by Bella. A mark that wouldn’t leave his face. Deep and angry. He traced it with his fingers. Pressed on it, feeling the slight indent. He tried to smile, looking at himself trying to see if there was charm to be had with his slight disfigurement. But his smile was too sharp. It had always been too sharp. It didn’t have the warmth it was supposed to have, it lacked the niceity. He had never had an innocence to go behind his smiles, they had always been glass masks. 

His hands tightened around the sink till they were near white as he tried to like what he saw. Will himself to seem normal. Somehow prideful again. Yet all he saw was a miserable creature that had been forced to the future, its destiny was to split his soul into hundreds of pieces. 

‘seven’ his mind supplied, that was the original idea. He wondered how many more to look like the undead. He had lost the 2 he created. He had lost probably half his soul. His hands shake. He tears himself away from the mirror and turns on the water, and steps into the stream once it's warm. 

~/*\~

Harry spends the night or rather morning with Sirius. He pets him on the head as if he were a dog, he doesn’t know if that is really strange or anything but he does. It's not like he can really hold more than his paw. 

He manages to tear himself away early in the afternoon as it looks like Sirius is improving under the careful guide of a healer and rest would do him well. He gets cornered when he heads to his and Ron’s room. Things transfer really quickly from how Sirus’s is doing. 

“I don't like the idea of you talking to him.” His best friend shakes his head from his place on the bed. 

“Ron.” Hermione starts, “You know it's because of what Dumbledore asked.”

“I'm thinkin we probably don't need to, we have been doing alright on our own,” Ron speaks up, cutting her off from her lecture. “Only 3 to figure out you know and we know they would be artifacts from the founders. we have Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw to find right?”

“We don’t know that for sure.” Hermione snipped. “What's to say he just went for things more slithering in nature?” 

“He liked the other houses too. Hogwarts was the only home he knew.'' Harry joined in. “And I am doing it for more than just what Dumbledore said. I think it's possible to at least try and make him a better person.”

“He might not even be a person.” Ron reminded, “Soul bits and all that.” 

“I plan to treat him like one.” Harry glared, “it's probably lack of humane treatment that helped to create Voldemort in the first place.”

Ron flinched at the name.

“He's no worse than Malfoy.” Harry tries to soothe the other. 

“Malfoy never killed anyone.” Hermione points out. 

“That we know of.” Harry clarifies, “he did attempt a few murders.” Silence fills the room, and Harry leans back on his wall. “I think that actually trying to befriend him, might just save the rest of his soul.” 

“Doesn't it bother you?” Ron asked. “I mean the whole diary thing and well he killed his own parents.”

“And Myrtle,” Hermione added. 

“I am aware.” Harry closed his eyes, at the end of the day Tom was human enough, he wasn’t unredeemable yet. Even if he knows there are things he probably can’t forgive the other for. Killing Myrtle was one of them. 

“Just be careful,” Hermione said softly. “We know he is good at manipulation.” She glanced at Ginny that was sitting with her on the crowded bedroom floor. 

“Don't you dare bring up the diary I already told Harry I'm not 11.” They all look at her and she shrivels a little face reddening in the way that used to drive Harry wild. He wants to reach out and hold her but he knows he can't. She won’t let him and the sooner he accepts it the better. “I was scared of him at first sitting there looking like that but I have spent years coming to terms with everything. I can handle it.”

Ron doesn't look convinced but for once is wise enough not to push it. Harry wonders if Hermione is finally helping him to become slightly more emotionally mature, that thought was squashed the second that Mrs. Weasley calls for help and Ginny left the room.

“I'm glad you have been taking him meals in her stead mate. It's bloody ridiculous that he has to stay here. He is bloody, you-know-who and all. I know that you think you might see some good in him or whatever but I think hell be proving us wrong in a couple of months when he turns of age.”

“He isn't you know who yet, and he doesn't have any Horcruxes left.” Hermione shifts her weight, uncomfortably shoulders hunching. “They seem separated now. Like Dumbledore was saying there is a chance he could turn it around. If Dumbledore isn't worried we shouldn't be. Right? He always has a plan.” 

Dumbledore wasn't always right, Harry knew that but he was at least happy that one was backing off. He suddenly felt the need to hide from them the fact that Voldemort was still connected to Tom much like he was to Harry if they both could see his memories and dreams. They wouldn’t understand and the last thing he needed was them wanting to crucify Tom before they could even try and get him to help with hinting at the last couple items. 

~/*\~

Tom sighed it was the last day to take the medical potions. He was sure of it. He could move after all. Well, that and he had felt himself slowly starting to get stronger even if he certainly had not felt that way after the whole dog thing. The dull ache in his side was fading, it only really reminded him of a stiffness now. Magic really was amazing. He worried more for his hand, but as long as it was curable and the damage was manageable he would just have to learn to live with it. He just needed to be able to cast, he would push himself through pain if he had to. 

Soon he would be able to leave his room but not the house. He liked the idea of leaving the room less and less. Sure this room was eating his apparent sanity, and was boring, but leaving meant that he would be forced to interact with the many residents of the home whether he wanted to or not. He would hazard a guess that he could only stand Harry and possibly Mrs. Weasly. Only because she reminded him of Cloe. they shared a bossy quality, and the ability to for whatever reason make him want to listen. Perhaps he saw her as the only authority figure that wasn't trying to get anything particularly out of him. She treated him like all the other brats in the house. She seemed though in some weird way to care about him. Care he would be sure to exploit a little if he needed to. But wouldn't upset her greatly as he recognized that she practically ran the house. 

Still, there are other residents that he doesn't want contact with. That loud redhead boy for one that was trying to blame him for hurting the dog was one of them. He would definitely be confrontational for no reason, much like he was sure Alister would watch him with that creepy blue eye. 

He greatly missed his wand and Hogwarts. He had fond memories of mastering disillusionment charms so that he could go about the halls unnoticed. He would sid around the gith corners of Hogwarts. He was a ghost, light on his feet, and unseen if he chose to be. It would have been helpful at wools if magic had been a tool available to him. But considering he did not want to be expelled he had to make do. 

Harry came into the room to bring him some food. 

“Good morning”

“Is it?” He sat up. He shouldn’t be happy to see the other. Times were strange when there wasn’t another soul besides Dumbledore that wanted to talk to him. And Dumbledore had been gone a while… 

“Afternoon, my bad.” 

“Your dog is going to be okay then?”

“Pulled through last night.” Harry replied, “or rather through the morning.”

“Right.” Tom nodded. 

“Good talk.” Harry rolled his eyes, placing down the bowl. 

“No wait, sit,” Tom commanded. Was he really this bored… the answer to that was yes. 

“I have things to do, Tom and you probably can move around considering last night.” Harry rubbed the back of his head. “Why don’t you get up?”

“And what follow you around? Like your little entourage?”Tom raised an eyebrow. “I feel oh so much better when I pulled my side trying to dodge what I thought was the grim.” 

“Is that your excuse for screaming bloody murder?” Harry chuckled.

“It brought you to save the mutt didn't it?” Tom glared. 

“Sirius is actually a pureblood.” Harry shrugged. 

“Don’t matter.”

“Oh so now it doesn’t matter,” Harry smirked.

“Shut up.” Tom huffed. 

“I thought you wanted me to talk. Here I am talking.” Harry sits down all the same

“And you said you had things to do.” Tom feels that odd calmness again wash over him with the other closer. It's because they are connected. He might be a past version of Voldemort but they were technically part of the same soul. 

“Well, I am adding annoying you to the list. Your face gets more color that way.”

And Tom really was flustered by that. He doesn’t know why Harry throws him so off tilt. “Besides that, what has your Order been busy with, are you going after the dog's attacker?”

“We don’t know who that was yet, so no. He hasn’t turned back to give us information on his mission.

“Which was?”

“Top secret.”

“But you get to know.” Tom notices he seems privy to things that none of the others that were underaged were allowed to know about. 

“Because I am the chosen one remember?” Harry sounds anything but pleased with that fact. 

“Oh, I remember,” Tom says dryly.

“You are also a risk because of the connection thing.” 

“So are you.” Tom countered

“Well yes but still.” Harry shrugged. 

“He must be running circles around you.” Tom muttered, “nothing seems to get done from my point of view but more of you are captured and injured.”

“It's not an easy solution, he had quite the following.” Harry snapped. 

“He still has it. I saw one of the dedicated deranged members up close.” 

“I'm glad that you don't want to be connected with him or his followers.” Harry means it, Tom can tell.

“He is a fool, disappointing the very name that I created.” Tom doesn’t bother to hide his disgust. 

“Do you just want to do better than his brand of crazy or do you want to do things differently?”

“Differently would be better,” Tom answers cautiously almost feeling like that question mattered more than the usual things Harry asked him. 

“What I mean is would you still want to purge the world of all muggle-borns?” Harry clarifies, his green eyes cutting him worse than any slashing spell.

“Is that his asinine plan? Purge them all?” Tom laughed without humor. 

Harry looked relieved by that.

“I don't like Muggles. I know you know that. We both know that by your reaction to my quip about family that I have done things to them. I distrust muggles. I can care less about what they do as long as they don’t end the world or bother us, magical people. There isn’t much need to do anything about them beyond that. What good are they? Tom folded his arms tightly. “Not worth the effort or trouble. Why should I dirty my hands and waste life when I don’t have to?” 

“He lost sight of that I think. He is trying to exterminate Muggleborns and gain unchallenged magical supremacy.” Harry leaned forward. 

“How dull.” Tom shook his head.

“Dull?” Harry stuttered, floored by his answer. 

“Yes, you heard me.” Tom snipped. “What good is a world where I can’t be challenged by others, learn new things? Prove I am greater than lesser wizards?”

“You're twisted but at least your mentality isn’t wickedly violent.” Harry relents. 

“That almost sounds like a compliment.” Tom smiles. 

“You wish.” 

Tom heard a noise and looked quickly to the hall. He can see the usuals waiting for Harry to leave him. They always seemed to steal the only company that Tom has. “I doubt you group would be too pleased that you seem at least with me.”

“It's not really their business who I talk to.” Harry sighed. “The place is too small not to try and get along with people.”

“So that's your excuse, and I suppose the red-headed boy won't attack me by this line of reasoning.” 

“There are a lot of redheaded boys but I assume you mean Ron.” Harry rolls his eyes. 

“Ron what a name, and I thought that Tom was bad.” He rests his head against his pillow. 

“He won't, by the way, attack you, that is if you act in a civilized manner and don’t make any too nasty comments.”

“I am always civilized.” Tom takes offense to that, he had been ‘good’ all things considering. “Would you say that is the mentality of most people in this house?” 

“I suppose so yah…” Harry rubs his head. 

“Good because I feel like I am walking on eggshells. I don’t claim to know what people expect me to do.” Tom shifted his weight so that he was more balanced against the headboard. 

“What do you mean by that?”

“Alister and the others, you included know more about my future selves actions than I do. So if this Ron thinks that he can best me, rub salt in wounds, or people other than Dumbledore expect me to discuss things they are foolish. I know nothing about this time nor Voldemort.” 

“Other than he is deranged.”

“Other than he is mental.” Agreed Tom. 

“You should come down later for food, teach your legs to move again, and all that.” Harry stood. “You need to eat more than one meal a day.” 

“I don’t need anything else. I don't eat much.” Tom shook his head the idea of eating more twisted his stomach, something awful. Harry was looking at him again… in that way… the one he doesn’t know how to feel about. Not quite pity, not quite care. 

~/*\~

“I can see that… “Harry is frozen a little at his words, reminded very well of the Dursleys in that moment. He can see that while not as indented his face has a sharp look to it as if he rarely indulges in anything. His dark eyes look less sickly now, but they are no less haunting. Under them, the skin is darker like now only shadows that look lined and bruised in many ways. His hair is not that perfect picture he sees in the diary but someone that has swept their hand through it too much due to stress. He was almost rigged now, gone was all neatness, gone was the look of control and well-manneredness that he thought of when he looked at the memories of Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle was always composed and had it together. Voldemort’s unhinged the rabid side of the mind. The one that lost all control. 

“What are you looking at?” He narrowed his eyes and Harry's eyes dropped to the scars poking out of the black t-shirt. That read smashing pumpkins a shirt that Mr. Weasly had acquired with no idea the actual meaning behind. 

“I'll be back soon to get the bowl.” Harry left but even as he does so, he can still feel those eyes. The eyes of a child at wools longing and he shudders to think why the other is looking at his retreating form so. 

~/*\~

He waited till footsteps faded to scrutinize what he looked like for himself. Again because he had apparently not enough self-loathing for himself he was in a thin black t-shirt that had the name of something that he didn't know, bit doubted that there was a significance to the title across it. He had denim and old pants. Much like the clothes from his childhood both were worn, not his own, and certainly not to his liking. It shouldn’t matter what he looked like. He wasn't the snake monster. He did not have anyone he wanted to impress not even a little. The only person he needed to somewhat keep on the good side of was Dumbledore and there was nothing in Tom’s appearance the other would consider to be useful or be won over by. If an innocent enough 11-year-old boy could not barter care, true care. A 16-year-old Tom Riddle who had killed, and done some pretty awful deeds would gain no sympathy only perhaps a low semblance of pity. He feels the other's absence now, it is like something important has left. 

He did not know what brought on this sudden feeling. It certainly could not have been healthy. To feel an attachment to someone in only a few weeks of knowing them. He felt as if he had known the other longer, which didn’t make any sense…

Unless… no that wasn’t even a possibility.

~/*\~

Sirius was able to turn back a few days later. He was insistent in sending a note off to Dumbledore as soon as he could grip a quill. 

"He won't tell me." Harry scowls as he eats breakfast. Mrs. Weasley had said that Tom had skunk down a few hours ago and ate already so it is just him and Hermione. Ron was out with his father on a food run. They were going to be such an odd pair in a muggle market. But they couldn’t risk Hermione. The ministry was cracking down even harder in trying to locate muggle-borns. It did not help that Sirius's botched apparition had possibly alerted them to the general area of the location. 

“I'm sure there is a reason Harry.” Hermione tried to reassure. 

“Dumbledore told him not to tell me.” Harry frowned poking at his eggs. 

“There you have it then.”

“But still why is Dumbledore hiding this from me?” Harry’s mind drifts back to the department of mysteries. 

“He can’t have everyone know everything or if they were captured the war effort would be in vain.”

Harry supposed that Hermione was right. He just did not like it. 

Tom doesn't come down for any meals, he stays held up in his room. He keeps away from the other adults, and no one really has seen him slip out into the hall for the bathroom or the showers until there is the door locked. 

Harry isn’t going to take him another meal, as he is able to move around. The sooner people got used to seeing him and interacting with him the better. Though he did perhaps agree that while Alistar was over checking in with Sirius on the mission status, that hiding was a good call. Moody did not like Tom, more so than he didn’t like Barty Crouch jr. and that was saying something. 

"Why can someone else not go?"

"You know Dumbledore, he can handle himself. These are dangerous times Molly. He is the best one of us to check, and check with such a shady person." Harry can hear Alistar's gruff voice from the kitchen. He pretends to be waiting for the main floor bathroom so that he can listen in. 

"We should trust his judgment." Lupin’s voice enters the conversation. "He has had dealings with him before." 

"Oh, Dumbledore." Molly huffs, "the man and his ideas he could be wrong you know."

"Ah, so yah admit that you think he could be wrong about the little demon upstairs." Alistar chuckled darkly.

"Don’t try and drag him into this. Moody." Harry doesn’t have to be in the room to know that she is pointing at him. "He isn’t what we're talking about. Were talking about Dumbledore going to speak to that… man." 

It's then that their conversation was interrupted by something because the chat turned drastically with. “Oh, good Ronald. I need someone to fold the laundry for me.” 

Harry chooses then to make himself known.

"Oh, Harry lovely have you seen Tom lately?" Molly asks kindly. "He didn’t come down for food. I prepared him something."

"I can take it to him." Harry offers. 

"I hope the little lordship is appreciating your help, boy. I wouldn't want to breathe the same air as that foul serpent." Mad eye glares at him. 

"Moody." Molly looked like she wanted to hex him. "There is no reason for you to behave like a child. Harry that would be very kind of you."

"He doesn’t need kindness what he needs is a strong kick to the…"

The look that Molly and Lupin shot him made the other never finish that sentence as there was the creak of floorboards and the magic eye swung over to the door. Ginny stood there shaking her head. 

"He is up and about, I wouldn’t say things loudly when there is a chance the person you're talking about can hear." 

Everyone in the room exchanged looks. 

"Well, at least we know the potions." worked. Molly cleared her throat clear, discomfort written on her face. 

"I preferred him to be in one place," Alistar said what they were all perhaps thinking just unwilling to say. "At least it was easier to keep an eye on him there." 

"Because he will do all sorts of terrible things without a wand or access to the potions stores." Molly shook her head.

"Not to mention the constant supervision." Lupin kindly added. 

~/*\~

After his long shower, Tom came back to find clean clothes on his bed. They were poorly folded and would soon wrinkle without him fixing them. He wonders if the person cared so little about clothes in general or just cared nothing if he looked like a street urchin. They were still not something he would ever enjoy waring, but beggars could not be choosers as they said. He just wished that it didn’t seem so… so well Muggle. 

He also wished that people would stop just entering and exiting his room freely. He frowned to himself as he put the clothes into drawers. He stalled with a book, but at this point, he was out of fresh material. His room was clean, and there was nothing for him to do.

He supposed that he could try and see a bit more of the house soon. There was no use in hiding up here, besides he was a little hungry. He slowly made his way down to the kitchen. The house was large, and he had not seen any of it besides a small part of the upstairs. As he pushed the kitchen open the room seemed to still. There were only a few people for lunch. Alistar, Potter, and Ron in the room. 

Joy…

He stood there a moment unsure where to go that wouldn’t result in a hex. It was much like his first year, his first house meal after being sorted into Slytherin and the welcoming ceremonies kindnesses no longer applied. ‘You can’t sit here Mudblood.’ They had all said turning up their nose at him like he had some sort of smell or they could tell by his used robes just how worthless of a place he had come from. He takes a cautious step forward. Then another and sits in the nearest seat that is strategically nearest to the door. 

There is soup on the table and he reaches for a small bowel, feeling the magic eye watching his every move as well as the good one. No one says anything for another second, and perhaps tired of it, Harry breaks it. 

“Good to see you up.” 

He nods and silence drifts back in like a bad cold. Tom takes a moment to look around the kitchen space. It reminds him so much of the nicer houses that he had come to associate with Slytherin pureblood houses, of course, he was never welcome in them for long with very few exceptions. As his eyes scan the room Ron and Alistar seem to stiffen. Only Harry shows no fear of him, no resentment, no open hostility, and it was almost nice. 

Molly entered the room and Tom almost breathed a sigh of relief as she might seem a little nervous of him but she did bring a conversation with her. 

“Ah Harry, how goes preparations.” 

Harry’s eyes drift to Tom. “They are going decently. I think the second safe house will be ready soon, and I can train there.” 

“Do you really think this is a conversation that we should be having now?” Alistar growled. 

Tom smiled despite himself, going right back to his defenses. “Don’t mind me. I am minding my own business.” 

For a moment it looked like Alistar was going to jump over the table and strangle him. Tom tightened his smile and his hold on his cutlery. The spoon would make a decent weapon if he were to stab the other in the eye with it. He had done much better work with a fork at wools, but they were having soup after all. 

“Really Moody, you heard Dumbledore. We have had this discussion, Tom is staying here with the order.” While Molly did seem to be defending him, he could hear the way that her voice wavered. He notices his magical aura must have slipped outside of his grip. The air was rather charged, but one couldn’t blame him for feeling defensive.

When Moody backed down, Tom smiled ever so slightly. It mattered little that the redhead and the scared man were having their little whisper discussion. Harry had shifted his seat away from them and closer to him. When he finished he stood and brought his bowl towards the sink. Molly who was cleaning them would probably appreciate the move. Well, maybe she would have if he wasn’t so light on his feet and managed to scare her. 

“Oh… Ha, Tom.” She took the bowel with shaking soapy hands. “Thank you, dear.”

Harry left his plate at his spot. “Would you like a tour of the place. Not much to show you of the house, but then you at least would know which rooms are occupied.” The Gryffindor offered.

“It would be acceptable.” He accepts. He would hate to walk into Moody's room. It might be the very last thing that he ever did. 

~/*\~

Harry sighed as he led Tom into the hall. “That could have gone better, but I suppose that it also could have been a lot worse.” 

Tom raises an eyebrow. “It would hardly be my fault. You saw how they were. I haven’t done anything to them.” 

He moves closer and Harry is reminded just how tall the other is, he had a good 5 inches on him. Voldemort was probably over a foot taller than Tom currently was. Both were the same sickly thin though and with dark sunken in sockets. Tom though had dark brown eyes, that were far softer than the hardness of red. He led him to the different bathrooms, the library, where laundry was done and explained the drawing-room was where the Order held meetings when it needed to. Harry told him as kindly as possible that he could not be present for those.

“You're one of them, even underage,” Tom asked as Harry shut the door. “One of the Order, I mean.” 

“Yes.” Harry nodded. “Have to be. When they attempted to keep me out of the loop. I nearly got a few people I care for killed. I demanded that they stop treating me like a child, as sheltering me or whatever they were trying to do was going to do nothing if Voldemort was just going to keep coming after me.” 

They head back to the library and Tom browses the shelves. 

“What happened to Grindelwald?” He finally asks. 

“He was defeated by Dumbledore.” Harry shrugs, hoping that Tom wouldn't ask too much bout it, he is awful at history. 

“You really have no books on modern history.” Tom sounded disgusted giving up on finding a book for the moment. 

“Thought I already told you that.” 

“It's just so frustrating.” Tom scowls, "Not knowing what's going on. It’s 50 years' worth of things that have happened that I have no clue of. If Dumbledore is right, there might not be a way home and if this war is never-ending, I’ll be stuck ignorant for the sole purpose of the fact that everyone thinks I’ll kill them if they breathe wrong. They can trust a werewolf but they can’t trust me.” 

“Lupin is….” 

“Fine, a person. Don’t start with me. I don’t care if he would be considered in my time as a half breed. Just like him. I can’t hurt anyone the way I am now.” 

Harry looks hard at him. “But if you were to have a wand, like Lupin on a full moon without wolfsbane..?” 

“I would use it to protect myself from my future self and anyone that wants to hex me.” Tom cuts him off. “But no. I have to be in a war with nothing, not even a knife or any knowledge of what is going on. If they make it past your wards. Voldemorts coming for the both of us I hope you know. He will consider me a threat for things I know, or he thinks I know and could tell you. And you, he just hates out of principle.”

“If he breaks down the wards, I will protect you.” Harry knows he would probably the only one to offer to. 

Tom laughs not accepting it obviously. “I couldn’t even beat his pet, Bella. I don’t think you stand a chance against the real thing. Unless you have truly an unknown power up your sleeve.” 

Harry thinks about that conversation late into the night and what he should have said to it. He knows how deadly Bellatrix is and he knows how deadly Tom is supposed to be. He has seen Voldemort’s power up close before. He knows that he is not skilled enough to duel him, not at the moment. He doesn’t have a chance as long as there are Horcruxes protecting the other. 

~/*\~

Tom builds a retune; he gets up, bathes, eats breakfast with the others or alone, and spends the rest of the day alone in the library. He likes it that way. July’s sun burns through the windows, but he can’t feel the heat. He can not leave. He starts to think that there is something very wrong with him, as he wants nothing more than to be out there. Out there in the world. He misses the feel of the wind and the smell of fresh air. 

This house is musty, damp in places, and cold. He knows that soon if he were in his own time he would be heading back to Hogwarts. No such luck here… There is nowhere to go that Voldemort has not tainted. 

“Good morning.” Harry greets him as he passes him on his way towards the kitchen.

“Is it?'' He responds. 

And by the look on Harry's face, it really isn’t that all great of a morning. 

“What is it?” He asks knowing that he will not probably get a response. 

Harry though surprises him. “Dumbledore wrote back about whatever it is that Sirius told Lupin. They will not tell me who it is that the other went to see, but I have managed to narrow it down to a retired Dark Lord. Whatever he found out couldn’t have been good by the way that Sirus paled.”

“He is back from being a Dog then.” 

“Has been for a while.” 

“I haven’t seen anyone new.” Tom defends. 

“He’s cooped up in his room.” Harry shrugged “He should be up and about soon.” 

“It’s probably something about the Horcruxes and how to destroy them.” Tom tilts his head thinking about it. “They are not exactly the easiest thing to destroy. He probably realized all the methods the other knew are not practical or even dangerous to attempt.” 

“And you would know all about Horcruxes.” Harry sneered.

Something almost harsh burned in Tom’s chest. He can almost feel the other's anger...

“I know some things.” Tom meets the aggression head-on, mind racing on what this could mean. “It's not like I don’t regret making them. They obviously caused my future self to go crazy.”

Harry seems to relax slightly at that and that weird calm feeling trickles back. It can’t be normal…

“Harry, can I maybe slip past you. I think that I'm so hungry that I might just start gnawing on a bone or something.” 

Tom turns to the unfamiliar voice. His eyes widened, “Orion?” It slips out. He hasn’t seen the other in what feels like an eternity, and when he takes a closer look he knows that it can’t be him. He knows that his friend is dead. Still, he has the same dark eyes and hair. The man looks at him strangely. 

“You must be Tom. I am Sirius, Orion was my father.” The way he says it, tells Tom that they never got along. 

“You look like him, he was my friend.” Tom shakes his head. “I apologize, I know he is dead now. It was foolish of me.” 

“He was pretty dedicated to you,” Sirius says conversationally, but there was a dark undertone that was impossible to miss. “Voldemort took his soul and my brothers. Branded them with marks and sold them on dreams many would consider to be nightmares.” 

He doesn't have a chance to even formulate a response to that because Harry has stepped aside to let him pass. 

“Oh good, Sirius you're up.” Dumbledore's voice makes Tom jump as he had missed the other coming up the stairs. “I will have a word with you I hope in a bit. I need to talk to Tom.” 

The way that he says that makes Tom’s skin crawl.


	7. The Crux of the Matter

Tom sits himself down in the green armchair of the library. He finds the room with books to be comforting, more so than his own room. It's probably because he often in childhood and at Hogwarts found himself around tomes, books being his escape from the darkening world outside. He has taken this room to be the only place he can truly be alone when that Granger girl was not there. She often left when she saw him. 

“You wouldn’t have come to see how I was, so what is it that you want to discuss with me?” He asked hoping that whatever this was would be over soon. 

“We already had this conversation, so I will not argue with you and waste time.” The old Wizard sighs deeply. “I do need to discuss something with you.” Dumbledore sits in the other chair. Tom tenses. “Please put yourself at ease.” 

That sentence does nothing for his nerves, if only it makes him have the need to brace himself harder for what other news the other is going to throw at him. Nothing good could come of it. He was willing to bet it on his life. 

“I have been busy, but I have attempted to discover the nature of your locket that you tampered with.” Withered hands folded on his lap, he looked frailer. “And I believe that it most likely was a rudimentary time turner. It was powerful, certainly, had enough to take you forward instead of backward. Being incomplete I doubt that it could have been properly used by the wielder. Most likely if we were to find it, it would be rendered useless from the powerful jump. Nowadays I think we have better, less powerful models. These devices are called time turners.

“You have devices to go back and forward, in controlled short bursts?” The idea puts a little hope into his heart that soon withers and dies with the grim face of the other. 

“Yes but they only allow for a person to go backward a short manner of time, they don’t and won’t allow for you to return to the past as you wish.” Dumbledore said grimly. “Think about it? How dangerous it would be, so the Ministry restricted them to a few hours. Trying to use one for your situation could prove dangerous and unpredictable.” He peered over his spectacles, they shimmered in the candle lights. “So it brings us to the main issue.” 

“There isn’t a way is that what you are going to say?” Tom gripped hard onto his too large pant legs. His heart started to constrict. He feels his breathing picking up slowly to reflect his distress. 

“At least not safely, but even if you wished to try, the Ministry of magic is the keepers of the Time-Turners, they are only able to be acquired with correct permits and that is if any have survived the attempt to destroy them all. I think you know who has control over the Ministry at this time. Beyond trying to steal time dust, I don't think there is even a chance to return you to your time.” 

“You… you…” Tom falters. Pressing his hands to his head. “It can’t be hopeless. I refuse to be stuck here at this time and place.”

“I am not saying it is hopeless just not feasible at the time. You will have to remain here for now.” 

It's not something he wants to hear. It practically physically hurts him to hear it. 

Tom does his best not to lose it. “How convenient for you. There is nothing that I can do but sit here? There has to be something that you aren’t telling me. Unwilling to tell me. Because it suits you to keep me here.”

Yes that made the most amount of sense, they were after all deliberately keeping information from him. 

“Tom.” Dumbledore warns.

Tom ignores him standing, accusingly leering at him. “Why are you not telling me everything? Are you hoping that I will help with your little Order? Hunt down those little soul bits you haven’t found. Is that my purpose, the part you wish me to play? Well, I won't do it.”

He won’t hunt down parts of his soul and destroy them. He is not a soldier; he refuses to be used as one. He never chose this… It was not his time and it was not his war. 

“Tom. Calm down.” Dumbledore matches his voice’s volume. 

Tom trembles with fury but sits down, gritting his teeth together, noting that Dumbledore is seconds from drawing his wand. 

“I have told you all there is to know. Truly there is no way back now. I am merely trying to help you realize the near impossibility before you obsess over it, and waste the possibility of your life here.” 

“I am to be trapped here forever.” Tom deflates, yes he is still angry, indescribably so, but he wilts with the knowledge that it's concrete. He has been trying to savage his sanity with the possibility of going home. It might not have been a great time to be alive, but it was his time. He had a semblance of respect there. He had friends, he was liked. He had a life, there is no hope for a life here.

“Perhaps not,” Dumbledore offers as if trying to comfort a child. Tom nearly growls in frustration. “But for now it seems that way. Try and take this graciously. At least you are safe here.”

Tom very much doubted that. 

“Safe? I don’t want to be safe. I want to be back home at Hogwarts, living my life, in my time. You have no idea what this is like.”

He hates how his voice is near hysterical, but he supposes that he is at his breaking point. 

“You have seen what you are to become. Is it not best to avoid that fate altogether, seeing the way that it displeases you?” That type of reverse reasoning wasn’t going to fly with him. Tom saw right through it. 

Tom laughs, “you would have me sit here and playhouse.” 

“No, adjust and move on.” Dumbledore says softly as if that could calm him, reassure him that things could get better. 

Things were going to get much worse. He had no out, and his future self was coming for him. He had really doomed himself to be on this side of things, not like he would want anything to do with the current plans the monster wanted to enact. Destroying everything, and everyone was hardly a reasonable sound-minded goal. 

“And join your little order and fight for peace and justice for all the muggles and mudbloods.” Tom mocks, thinking about someone like him being capable of such a thing.

“Perhaps in time.” Dumbledore’s voice is flat in response. 

Tom looks at him in both surprised at the man's audacity and with contempt. He shakes his head, his eyes itch, but he ignores the urge that they wish to give into. 

“You are nothing but a fool. You think that would ever happen? That they would allow it, accept me. You know what I am, don’t even try and forget it. You helped to make me.” 

“I have not forgotten, though it was your own decisions that led you to that fate, don’t go blaming it on me. I remember you sitting at Wools, a child that had stolen and drove his housemates near mad. I remember it all tom. I know it all. But you could be more than that fate. You have been given a second chance; perhaps many would give anything for such a chance.” 

He had no idea what that place was like. Of course, he stole, all the children did it. It was the only way to have anything to your name. He lived by thieving. He would have starved times without the action. 

“I have been given nothing. My whole life nothing… but the gift and poison of magic. This has taken everything from me. Even the world I knew.” 

“Begin again.” Dumbledore instructs him as if it is the simplest thing that he can do. “You are strong Tom I know that you can do it. This will not break you to accomplish.”

“You say it as if I don’t have a choice.” Tom watches him, those blue eyes the way they are watching him now seem dangerous, more so than before. 

“There is always a choice.”

“Oh yes, stay here do as you ask, or go out into the world and be murdered for who I am. Stay here and possibly be killed all the same.” Tom spits. 

There is no good solution. Silence passes between them. Perhaps Dumbledore let it for a while just to give him a piece of mind before he bombarded him with the real reason that he came. 

“I have something else to ask you.” 

“Of course you want the exchange, you did your part to ‘help’ me and now it's my turn.” Tom bitterly presses on. “Is it to do with your hunt for Horcruxes? Or the Dark Lord that you went off to see?”

There is slight discomfort that crosses the old man's face but it returns to the mask quickly. “I need to know what other objects you think that your future self would have turned into Horcruxes. I already know of the Hufflepuff cup, it goes with the Slytherin locket. They were owned by the same person. I know of the ring and the diary. I have deduced Nagini from your memories. But what else would you have considered to place your soul into?”

Tom ignores his question in favor to ask his own. His curiosity propelling him forward with a need to confirm his suspicions. “So it's possible then to make a living thing into a vessel.” 

“Yes.” Dumbledore answers, his voice slightly pained. 

‘Harry… ‘ His mind automatically supplies. He looks at the other's blue eyes. He already knows this, but he must ask anyway. He needs to know. “What happens to a living thing when the Horcrux is destroyed?” 

“I am not sure.” Dumbledore folds his hands under his chin. It's never been done. I suppose I will know what happens after Harry or I slay Nagini. I would predict though that the vessel would die. On another note, if you're worried about helping destroy him, I would think that you would still be alive as your time is different than his.”

“But you're not sure.” Tom smiles sharply. It would tie up all the bows nicely if he died right along with his future self. Time would no doubt heal. 

“Nothing is certain in this age.” Dumbledore matches his look. 

“I wanted to make seven.” Tom gives a little. 

“I am aware.”

“What happens to Harry when this is all over?” Tom changes the subject. 

“WHatever do you mean Tom?” The tension in the room has risen. Magic static in the air and a confrontation brewing. 

“You know well and well what I mean. What happens to Harry when you destroy the others.” Tom does not dare to look away. He knows he will not like the answer. He must confirm it for his own sick curiosity and wellbeing. He needs to follow it through. 

“So you have deduced it too.” Dumbledore stands, moves away from him. The silence is deafening. 

“Yes, Potter holds a piece of my soul. It took me a little to figure it out, but there is a reason after all that he is connected to the other. It wasn’t hard to deduce after confirming that living things can hold pieces of someone's soul.” Tom watches as the other makes a move to pace. 

“I would prefer if this information doesn’t leave this room and stays between us for the time being. It's a delicate topic and Harry will be informed when the time is right.” 

Tom feels cold. “Oh, and when will the time be right?”

“When the end approaches for all 3 of you.” 

~/*\~

The house shakes and magic dark magic is released upon them. Tom screams at Dumbledore, his magic shattering wards built for silence. He can’t make out the first wards, but as Harry rushes up to the library in time to see the books flying off the shelves used as projectiles. He is able to pick up the tale end. The library looks like a bomb has gone off. 

“You're more a monster than I am.” Tom screamed “I hope you die soon and painfully for what you plan to do. You are a scheming liar. I hope he kills you.” 

Harry stands there by the door that has the crystal knob smashed. He stares wide-eyed at him and Tom catches his look. Eyes fiery reminding him of Voldemort, but they soften ever so slightly when looking at him. Pity? Pity why…? Harry looks between him and Dumbledore that has his wand drawn. 

Tom has not made a move to attack, though his core is more powerful than Harry had ever thought. If Voldemort was half as powerful as Tom felt at this moment he really would be in trouble. 

“The information stays between us, Tom.” Dumbledore says warningly. Tom trembles with rage, not fear. He looks at the other and Harry knows he wants to kill him, if those almost blood brown eyes could kill with the ice in his stare, Dumbledore would be impaled by an icicle. 

“For the greater good right?” Tom says with such contempt that Harry even feels cut by it. “Go be the second Grindelwald. Go be worse than Voldemort with your schemes and your lies. Leave me out of it. I won’t help you with it.” 

The great Tom Riddle though is bending by the look that Dumbledore was giving him. It is the first time that Harry has ever really felt the headmaster's anger. Never has he looked more frightening than he did then. Harry had never been fearful of the older man in his life. He has never had a reason too. But at that moment he is more scared of him than he is Tom. He is scared of what the other could do to Riddle. 

“Harry please leave us.” Dumbledore leaves no room for argument, he almost has calmed down, as the door slams shut by magic and the wards are brought back up blocking entry and sound. 

~/*\~

“Going to curse me into silence? Tom watches the wand with darkening eyes. “Wouldn’t be the first dark wizard to do so.” 

He knew there was something hidden under that grandfatherly act, but this is more cold-blooded than he ever would have thought. It was something that Tom would have done, not something someone that was fighting for the light would do. 

“Harry can not know.” Dumbledore said gravely. “I wish it was not the case, but he will need to die when the time comes.”

Tom feels his own anger rise again for Harry. Harry that wouldn’t know. Harry that would sacrifice for anyone by what he has managed to pick up from the others. Selfless Harry that even would have defended him, no doubt if it came to it. 

“You raised him for the slaughter.” Tom bites. “Oh, I can’t tell if it is worse to be loved by you or hated.”

He sucks in a deep breath retreating to a chair, knowing there is no way out of this. There's no way to run even if he wanted to. “You are truly evil to betray him, and all that care like that? Who else knows that you plan to let him die, plan to eliminate him after he has filled his purpose.”

Dumbledore glares at him. “This is war Tom.”

“And that makes it alright to stab those that are close to you, trust you, and would do anything for you? Throw them away as if they are nothing to you? That is your greater good?” Tom narrows his eyes. “Tell me what world you are fighting for when you sacrifice someone like that. What will you do to those you consider enemies?”

“Nothing that they did not deserve.” Dumbledore says with honest conviction. 

“And what is it that I deserve?” Tom asks, tilting his head. “What is it a murderer like me deserves? Can I change or should I be condemned forever?” 

“I don’t wish to play mind games with you, Tom. I need to know what other Horcruxes you considered making.” Dumbledore flips the conversation again on its head. 

“So you can kill Harry faster.”

“Careful Tom, you almost sound like you care.” Dumbledore puts his wand away. 

“He cares for you.” Tom countered. 

‘Tom. I would rather not have to make you take a vow of silence, so instead let us make a deal. You will keep silent about Harry being a Horcrux and tell me what it is that I need to know and I will consider getting you a wand and keeping you in the safe house.” Dumbledore reasons. 

“I thought you wouldn’t hold my safety over my head.” Tom snaps at him.

That was before. You're a threat to this household now but with a promise, you could be an asset, a member. Now tell me which do you want to choose?”

Tom swallows down all his anger, all emotions, and puts on a mask. His choice is abundantly clear, but not what remained of his conscience. 

~/*\~

“You're alright.” Harry practically leapt from the sofa when he saw the older man descending the stairs. 

“Yes.” Dumbledore looked very tired. “I know where another Horcrux is or at least a hint of one. Tom was reluctant to tell me the information.” 

Harry pictures the way that the other looked, and unease fell in the pit of his stomach. He squishes it because Dumbledore was probably right with his actions. “Did he say what it was?”

“Yes he had considered using the Ravenclaw Diadem. Apparently, he had been talking with a certain ghost winning her trust in order to find it.”

“So one other one than that.” Harry nods. “It would probably be something from Gryffindor then. He would want all 4 houses covered.” 

He is unaware of what he has said to upsert the other because Dumbledore gives a weak smile. “Probably.” 

“When do we leave?” Harry quickly changes the subject as he sees, Tom standing at the top of the stairs out of the corner of his eye. 

“Tomorrow evening.” Dumbledore turns to look at the stairs. Tom moves from his place towards his room. “It's best to leave him be, Harry. I don’t think befriending him any longer is a good idea.” 

Harry doesn’t know why but that bothers him. What had they talked about that had convinced him of this? What had made Tom seem past redemption?

~/*\~

Tom waits for him, he blocks his way towards his room. He is risking a lot here, but he isn’t going to tell him what he shouldn’t. Just warn him that's all. He would want someone to do the same for him, given the situation. They are in a similar situation after all connected to Voldemort’s soul. 

Harry sighs. “What is it? I thought that you would like to cool off after everything.” 

Tom shakes his head. “He needed it more than me. Did he tell you about the diadem?”

“He did.” Harry nods. “We’re going to get it tomorrow.” 

“Don’t go with him.” Tom warns him.

“Is this your way of saying that you boobytrapped it?” Harry raises an eyebrow.

“No, Harry. It could have a trap set, probably does. Just don’t go with him.” Tom tries to make himself sound sincere. “Dumbledore has a lot more on his mind than destroying diadem. Don’t turn your back to him.” 

Harry laughed. “Are you seriously trying to cause a rift between me and him?” His voice hardened. “Don’t try and cause distrust in the Order Tom, Dumbledore’s the reason that some haven’t acted the way that they wished to.” 

“I can care less about his supposed protection, your order, or whatever. I’m not warning them. I am warning you.” Tom’s voice hardened. 

Harry looks over him. He’s looking for a lie, manipulation. Perhaps he found one because he just looks disappointed in him. “I don’t believe that you actually care about me like that…. You almost sound convincing.” 

Tom’s face heats. “Fine don’t believe me. Get yourself killed, Voldemort would love that.” He turns quickly on his heel. He shuts the door and runs a hand through his hair. 

He doesn’t go to dinner. He stays hidden way into the night, till he is sure that none are up. He then takes a bag out of the closet and starts throwing a few things in it. He isn’t waiting for Dumbledore to kill him. Tom has nothing left to give him that could be useful. He could make a decent Muggle till this mess is over. He knows how to survive well enough in their world. It certainly couldn’t have changed all that much. He watched it pass by outside of his window. The cars looked strange and the clothing had changed slightly, but nothing else seemed too different. He is smart and not above hiding in plain sight. Let Voldemort try to track him across Europe. All he needed was a wand and he would be set. Any wand would do. 

He just needs to watch the others long enough to grab one. 

~/*\~

“You're definitely going to be alright?” Sirius placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. He was worried and Harry can not blame him. In a few hours, he will be picked up by Dumbledore and they will be sneaking back into Hogwarts, a place crawling with Death Eaters. 

“Definitely.” Harry nodded. “Don’t worry I will be with Dumbledore.”

“Of course.” His Godfather repeats though looks no less worried. 

“Harry you have everything ready to go.” Lupin asks kindly as Harry makes his way out of the living room. 

“I'm set, ready as I ever will be.” Harry smiles at him. 

“Good.” The werewolf nodded, “very good.” 

He is acting much the same, fretting over him. 

“I got the cloak, map, and my wand, what else do I need?” Harry tried to reassure. 

“Your wits about you.” Moody cuts in gruffly. 

Tom’s warning suddenly finds its way back into his head. He shakes his head trying to clear it. 

~/*\~

Tom waits to leave his room, uneasy knowing that Dumbledore will be back soon. He doesn’t know if he can be affected by the Horcruxes being destroyed, he doesn’t know what will happen when they are all gone. He has half a mind not to care that Harry would die for that outcome. Yet Harry has a part of his soul, and perhaps that is why they share a connection and have similarities. As it stood there was nothing to say that he could die at any point, simply vanish as time fixed itself, or his future self would catch up to him. Death was something that tom had never felt an acceptance for, and now that it loomed over him, followed him like a ghost was sickening and horrifying. 

Harry was asleep in the arms of the reclining chair, using it completely wrong. His glasses slipping down his face, a book closed on his chest. Probably catching a quick nap before his mission. Did he truly not fear for himself that he could rest so soundly in a place that Tom visited frequently? Was he really that foolish? His wand was sticking out of his robe pocket for Salazar's sake. He closed the door behind him. Breathing and the clock ticking was the only sound in the room.

He wanted a wand, needed one. He cared little if he was ever able to return to his time, least not immediately. He was sure to find away. He had resolved to find a way, despite the fact that Dumbledore wouldn’t. But first, he really needed magic… nothing was accomplished without it at least as a backup in the meantime. He could play muggle until he was out of the country. 

And it was there, tempting him. A chance… A chance to get out of this mess. 

He imagined taking it as he took a step closer to the sleeping boy. A boy that had no idea what fate has in store for him. A tragic end to a boy that had a tragic start. Much like Tom saw himself. His mind played over consequences for his actions. Where would he really go, yes he had a bag packed, but there were no funds. He had no real plan of action. He didn’t know the reach of Voldemort. If he were even to kill or harm one of them leaving and abandon the house Dumbledore would hunt after him. He would probably hunt after him regardless, even if Tom could not tell anyone about the location of the place if he wanted to. Dumbledore hunting him, the order, death eaters, and Voldemort was not a good combination. 

His hand twitched, wanting so badly to just grab it. 

He was really trapped. The old man had him with no real chances, least ones that wouldn’t be catastrophic. He sat himself down in the other chair watching the other sleep. 

Harry creaked open an eye, slowly stirring. Tom pretended to be reading one of the books he had set on the coffee table earlier. He sat up. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep here.”

Tom just nodded. 

“I have to go soon.” Harry stretched and fixed his glasses.

Tom nodded again.

“Are you seriously giving me the silent treatment.” Harry raised an eyebrow.

Tom decided not to dignify that with a response. 

“You are, aren't you, what are you 4?” Harry rolled his eyes. 

Tom shrugged, pretending to find reading about water plants of the locks. 

“Look, let’s say that you were serious about Dumbledore and him being a possible threat to me. Why would he even do that? Did he threaten you and that made you think that?” 

Tom pinches the space between his eyes. “Let me put it simply. I can’t tell you what we discussed. I just know that he doesn’t have your best interests at heart.”

“And you do.”

“Hardly.” Tom snorts. “I just know how it feels to be stabbed in the back by someone you love or thinks cares about you.” 

“What are you going on about.” 

“He is hiding things from you, and I know that you're fine with some of them. But this one changes everything. Ask him. I can’t tell you but ask him and if he still keeps it from you then at least you have some sort of an answer.” Tom looks to the door, hearing footsteps coming up the hall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one to set up things rather nicely. Thank you for your comments, you are all wonderful.


	8. Death Knocks Twice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween, my gift for you.

The footsteps draw Harry's attention to the hall. Tom watches the door with those dark eyes. He sits up straighter than before and Harry is not sure if it is an attempt to seem more composed, or stronger. Pride was a Slytherins biggest flaw some would say. Tom was no exception to the rule, near the perfect mask in place all the time. Pleasantries only when it suited him. It was impossible to tell if he was being genuine at that moment or not. But Harry liked to think he was, as stupid as that was. Manipulations aside Tom seemed to speak in half-truths, his own reasoning behind what he was doing and saying spinning it to be true.

He is reminded of the way that diary had said that he had caught the person harboring a monster, it did not exactly translate to the person that was the one that was behind attacks, and even if it was, the spider was not the monster that had killed Myrtle in a bathroom. No that was the snake, and it had been controlled by the very person or soul bits that sat across from him. Tom was not exactly the most innocent of people. He was a murder… but Harry would be lying if he had not heard the pain in the other's voice. To have such an emotional response, Dumbledore must have really put the pressure on him. 

So was he really looking out for him or was the fundamental way things changed because he showed just how little he trusted someone that had been his meteor. Someone that Harry almost considered family with all that he had done for him. How could Dumbledore really stab him in the back? It could not have been intentional right, just circumstantial. But there was the chance it was true like how the other never helped Sirius get a trial or the invisibility cloak and his first year.

Harry didn’t know honestly what to believe. He could agree that Dumbledore was keeping things from him, he could agree that there had to be a motive behind taking Harry on missions to destroy the Horcruxes, but he isn’t sure that it would change everything on a fundamental level. 

Damn Tom for putting doubt into his head. 

Tom tilts his head as if reading him, knowing that he is mulling it over. He smiles ever so slightly, smugly, as if he has won something. 

The knock comes twice, and a familiar woman opens the door. Her pink hair will always make her stand out. She smiles at him before her eyes fall on Tom. 

“Harry.” Tonks looks between them. The air is thick with possible tension. Tonks was the one that had saved Tom after all. She had not known of course who he was when she had acted with Hufflepuff heart. Harry doesn’t want to think about what would have become of the other if they hadn’t rescued him. Harry might have said that they should have turned him out to the cold, but he had not really meant it. Not really… it was just Tom Riddle, Voldemort had been sitting there in his old guest bed. Dumbledore had acted like he had not killed at least 4 people and said he was redeemable, near innocent really. He was suddenly far too aware of that fact…

Hermione had been right, but treating Tom like a monster would probably only have encouraged bad behavior. Right? Tom almost seemed to like him. He is really happy to be leaving for a bit now. Air away from Tom would probably be good. Help him set his head back on straight. 

“Tonks.” He says brightly with more enthusiasm than he feels.

“Tonks.” Tom dips his head in greeting. 

“Dumbledore’s here for you. I was sent to get you. A few order members will be headed out tonight, they will be stirring up trouble for old reptile face while you go after the artifact you need.”

Harry glances at Tom who does not look pleased that Harry is getting up to leave. “And what are you doing?” Harry asked. 

“Slytherin sitting.” Tonk doesn’t miss a beat, back to her more friendly self. “Tommy and I are going to be spending some quality time together.” 

“I don’t need a sitter.” Tom scowls as Tonks moves over and wraps an arm over his shoulder. “I’m not a child.” 

“Hush now the people of age and two days away from it are talking.” She says teasingly and manages to hold him to the chair as he tries to shove her off. 

Harry laughs, he can’t help himself of all the stressful things going on. This makes him almost feel like it could be alright as if things could be normal. “I’ll head downstairs then.” 

“Good.” Tonks releases Tom who nearly falls out of the chair to get away from her. “Be safe Harry.”

“Bye Tonks.” Harry snorts. “And see you, Tommy.” He quickly leaves before the surprised face can change. 

Harry heads down to the living room where there is quite the gathering. It looks like Arthur, Moody, Lupin, and a few people he does not recognize will be headed out to cause a diversion for them to make it inside of Hogwarts castle to speak with the gray lady. Sirius, Molly, and Tonks seemed to be maning the house and on standby. Sirius probably was to stay out of everything until he was fully healed. Harry can see the annoyance on his Godfather's face. He wants to be part of the action. They are much alike in that way, it's hard to just sit. 

Hermione is geared up, and Harry knows that she is of age, but can not help but feel worried for her as she pushes her way through the small gathering to hug him. “Oh do be careful.” 

“You too.” Harry nods as she lets go. 

“I will be perfectly safe. I am merely there to help pull someone out or perform medical spells. I know the simple ones you know.” She shakes her head and pushes her bushy hair back. Even though she sounds prideful and a know it all as always, Harry can hear the slight anxiousness in her voice. It would be the first time he was not with them for something like this. 

“I’ll have her back Mate,” Ron says from behind them. 

Harry looks him over. “She might have yours, you have only bested her a couple of times.”

Hermione laughs softly. “I can count on my hand the times, but the effort is appreciated.” She looped her arm through Ron’s who was only slightly red with embarrassment in the face. 

“Oh well, you know. If I can defend against you, then a couple of Death Eaters won’t be no trouble at all.” 

“Harry my boy.” Dumbledore calls to him, “It’s time.” He holds out his good hand and Harry takes it. There is the popping of his ears and the turning of his stomach as they touch down somewhere within the Dark Forest. 

~/*\~

“So.” The woman that saved him from the dungeons of Malfoy Manor, Tonks cocks her head. “Tom Riddle exists outside of his room.” 

Tom sneered. “Of course I do.” He stands up straight, thinking about just retreating back to his room even if that would prove her point. He really did not need to deal with this. 

“You don’t have to be rude, you know.” Tonks throws herself into the chair that Harry has just vacated. “I was just trying to make conversation. You're from like 50 years ago right, could be interesting to know about that. I mean like peering into one of those old manuals for dating advice. Did witches really think their husbands would like braids?”

Tom blinked. “What?”

“The young witches guide to manners and educate. My mother was forced to read it, all the Purebloods read it. Is it true the braid thing got all the men?” Tonk’s hair turns purple as she talks. It fascinates him. He has never really seen anyone like her before and that did not include the changing of the hair color. Bolder than anyone in this house besides maybe Harry himself. No woman in his time would even consider draping themselves over the future like she did. None would even talk like that. Her dress though is by far the strangest thing about her, a green looking leather jacket with an odd pattern that reminded him of diamonds and tight-fitting pants. 

“I would not know, I saw some attempted braided styles but it's not like I paid attention to that.” Tom sighs, sitting back in his chair. It might be annoying but winning her over might have some benefits and at least she was interesting. 

“Not into that sort of thing huh?” She wags an eyebrow.

Tom’s brow furrows. “I suppose not…” He doesn’t know what she is hinting at. “I never really had time to date.”

He had always found the girls to be boring, all dressing up like dolls and hoping to marry someone rich. Most people in his year would never have spared him more than a small fantasy. He had nothing to his name, no title, no gold, no lineage, or guaranteed job. It takes a lot not to hang his head thinking of it. His mother, his father… At least if they hadn’t abandoned him he could have had something. His blood has the nobleness of the house of snakes but is dirtied and diluted by incest and Muggle-blood. He can be proud that he is related to Salazar, but not where his line nearly ended. It would end with him, he is sure of it. Dumbledore or Harry will kill Voldemort and then Tom might follow. 

Tonks continues on as if she is fine with his lack of a real answer to her question. 

“But if you could, would there have been any in your house that you would have considered? And please don’t tell me Abraxas Malfoy, I will die. He is a distant relative you know on my mother’s side. Well, not too distant the way that the Black tree is interwoven.” She moves her arms to signal the twisting of the branches, something that Tom knows all too well. Tonks was related to Sirius then and Orian. There is no resemblance though that he can tell. He doesn’t know if he is disappointed or not by that. 

“Abraxas is a guy,” Tom says slowly. 

“Yeah, and I heard before he settled down, or was rather forced to he was quite the player of the Quidditch field if you know what I mean.” Tonks sits up excitedly, seeming interested in a scandal. Tom finds that a lot of girls seemed to be like that. 

“He was a seeker.” Tom knows that Abraxas plaid quidditch for the past 4 years, ever since he was allowed on the team. He was popular for it, well-liked. Always spending long hours practicing out there on the field and getting into things with the other players afterward. Abraxas was not exactly a follower, but he had seen something in Tom, something useful to meet an end. There was no way of telling with Malfoy if he was ever completely sincere about anything he said or did. Tom still wants to curse him for patting his cheek like he was a dog when he had mentioned his lineage. He couldn’t of course, harming Abraxas even with the following he was gathering would have been social suicide. 

_‘How cute.’ The blond had smiled, leaning in as they were alone in the corridor. ‘You’re not a Mudblood, but an interesting little half-blood.’_

“See you get it.” Tonks winked at him. “So how many brooms did he ride, before marrying my Great Grand Whatever. I heard he was rather reluctant to marry her.” 

Realization finally hit. No woman should or ever would talk quite as bold and brashly as she did not in his time. He coughed. “I know of at least 3 boys.” 

His face burned. This wasn’t the type of conversation that he ever thought he would be having. No one would have really talked about this sort of thing with him. None that followed him around would have dared. 

It just wasn’t talked about. It was things that happened in the dark and in the dorm rooms and broom closets. Things that Tom of course thought of. He was 16 after all and he had seen things in the orphanage. He had seen people having relationships, heard things too. It used to disgust him when he was younger, the idea of intertwining bodies and swapping of fluids. Not so much anymore. It was normal to want that sort of pleasure but none of the commitment nor intimacy. Those things were weaknesses and left someone opening to be burned. Tom couldn’t afford it. He could not risk it. There was a chance that something could have gone wrong and they would have been in the way of his plans, his goals, and he wouldn’t be his father he wouldn’t. 

She smiled like a shark actually the shark teeth had shown up. “Damn.” He blinked and her teeth were back to normal. She noticed his expression and smirked. “Pretty cool gift huh? I can change my whole face if I want to.”

He nodded. “You’re a metamorphmagus, I read about them.” He doesn’t know how he could be so stupid. She had been flaunting her gift since he had met her. 

“And you're a parselmouth. We both have a few skills.” She smiles. 

Tom actually is tempted to smile at it. It felt nice not to be treated as an outsider. Sure it could and probably was all a trick as she was supposed to be watching him, but still nice. Nice to have people outside of the few in Slytherin hear it, and think that it was special and not some sign he was a devil. “It must come in handy to be able to look like anyone you wanted to.”

He wondered what it would like to be able to look like anyone you wanted, change in an instant if needed. He at times would have killed to be someone else, be born someone else. Looked more like a pureblood.

Tonks shrugs. “It helps with the work I do, but you have to be very careful on who you turn into.” Her face matches how he looks. She even smiles that way too sharp of smile. “It can get you into trouble.” She morphs back into her normal self. He supposes that her hair just turned color to her moods as it was now a bright green.

“I would imagine.” Tom can agree. She didn’t sound like him when she had taken on his likeness. She had done a rather convincing impression but he knew how his voice sounded and her dress did not change either. “Still a bit more practical than mine.” 

“I don’t know if I had the ability to tell snakes to scare people and bite them for me. It would be pretty cool.” She tilts her head and the now red hair slides with it. “I would use them as spies if they were capable? Are they? I always wondered. Voldie by our sources talks to his snake like it's intelligent beyond people or something.” 

Tom frowns slightly seeing what she was doing. “They are not the best conversationalists.” 

“Oh don’t get that look on your face. I wasn’t asking for any reason other than I was curious.” She stands up and scratches, her gloved hands over her head. 

“You do know the old saying about curiosity and the cat?” Tom shakes his head. 

“It killed it and brought it back.” Tonks smirks as if she’s proof of that. “Come on Tommy let’s hit the kitchen.” She starts heading for the door in a very sporadic move that throws him off tilt. He almost forgets to be insulted by the name. 

“I’m not hungry.” He says pointedly. 

“Too bad it’s never too late for a snack, come on Molly be in her room watching her clock to make sure all the kids come home safe. Sirius will be in his room brooding, the kickens ours.”

Tom hesitates, not exactly sure if he should give in to the temptation, he was a snake not a cat after all. 

“Come on, I’ll make you whatever you want.” She motions him. “There has to be something good stored away somewhere or I can bake.” 

He follows her against his better judgment. “Just remember you said you would make anything I wanted.” 

She chuckles. “I made no promises, sides it mostly depends on ingredients.” 

~/*\~

Harry pulls the cloak tight around himself as they make their way into the castle. It feels colder in the air than it should. It's the middle of July and he feels as if he needs a jacket. There is frost that has started to form on the ground and it's then that he can see them, drifting amongst the blackened sky, robes of shadow that billow outward. Dementors are foul creatures, he sticks close to Dumbledore that is under a powerful disillusionment. 

The castle is not warm in the glow of the moon. If anything it looks haunting. It’s gothic look, casting striking dark shadows that stretch on forever. There are less candlelights in the windows, and it seems as if life has left it. There are no sounds of people or even ghosts. There is just silence and stretching hallways. 

“Professor,” Harry asks softly, just to make sure that he is not alone. Feeling the soft brush of a hand at his side lets him know that the older man is still there. They twist downward and then up again. Helena would wander those lower halls, she seemed to do so to avoid the Bloody Baron that would hover near her house some nights and the astronomy tower. 

She is there pale in the moonlight, the small light of a candle dancing in the breeze by the large window pane. She shimmers almost blending into it. Her pretty features are near doll-like, white, with dark contrast of her hair and eyes. She turns and her hair bends almost lifelike in movement. 

“My lady,” Dumbledore says quietly to her. “It has been a long time.” 

The brown eyes don’t glisten nor show signs of being affected. “Albus.” She turns back to her window. “Things have changed since you went away. The boy came back, more monstrous than ever. Eyes that glowed in the dark redder than the blood he has spilt. He came to see me, to taunt me I think for what he had done to my precious treasure, the one that brought me to my end.” 

“I am seeking to fix that problem, remedy it if possible.” Dumbledore steps across the tile to her. She does not turn, her black eyes look to the forest and lake far beyond the walls. She does not blink, she does not move. Stiller than any creature could ever be, and yet no less beautiful and fragile.

“There can be no fixing what has been done. The children will never return from the woods in which the skulled masked ones have dragged them. Can you not hear them? They cry in the night, they scream, they beg.” 

It is then that pretty face shows signs of change, her lips part, and her eyes grow smaller as she shuts them slightly. Ghosts can not cry, not truly but she looks as though she wishes to. “I can not help them. No, none of us can. The dead can not leave here, we can not pass on, though we have tried many of us have tried.” She shifts to the side. “Some of us do deserve it, but my little ravens, my little fledglings they did not.”

“I have come to stop him, I need to destroy the object he defiled.” Dumbledore beseeches her. 

“He took it, hid it where he thought only he could go. The room he hid from the world in, the place I met him, crying, nose broken. Mudblood of Slytherin house, with tainted insestial blood. Hated by peers for wit beyond years, adored but abandoned by others. We shared dislike for our paths. But he lied.”

“Yes, he has lied to many, many people.” Dumbledore keeps her there it seems from fading out into the grounds. “It's here in the castle then?” 

She starts to fade. 

“Where? Helena please, my dear, dear, lady.” 

“The room where everything is hidden.” She all but breaths, gone in the faded misty light. “If you know you need only ask.” 

~/*\~

“Right this should be fun.” Tonks clapped her hands, throwing off the fingerless gloves. “Making cinnamon cookies.” 

Tom doesn’t know where she has gotten the enthusiasm from. He sits at the large table watching her conjure things closer to herself. “You're really going to make them at 10 in the evening? You won’t be done till at least 11 or later. ” 

“No, I thought I would just get all the ingredients out.” She rolls her eyes. “Besides it's not like we have anywhere to be. And you need to be exposed to all sorts of music. I have 50 years' worth to get you caught upon.” 

“Muggle or Magical?” Tom furrows his brow.

“Magical is dull, Tommy nothing there. Now Muggles they went through something called the 80’s and trust me they came out better for it. I am going to blast some of these as you help me cook.” 

“What became of you making me food?” Tom raised an eyebrow. 

“I am but you’re helping, it's the least you can do. It won't be much work and you’ll thank me later when you're stuffing your face.” Tonks grabs the radio and spins it. Something he supposes is to count as music blasts. It has a decent beat perhaps. 

“What is this called?” He asks, baffled. 

“Queen.” She says as if that explains everything. “Just roll with it.” She rocks a few steps, throwing off her jacket to reveal… well near nothing. Just a tube of fabric with thin straps. It hugged her the right way he supposed, but it was like nothing like it in his time. He can’t help but stare, stare as her hair changes blue to match it. 

“Well well, you’re certainly a teenage boy.” She snorted, brushing her hair out of her way. Whacking him lightly on the head. 

Of course staring regardless of the time was rude. He immediately raises his eyes. “Sorry none in my time, would pick that sort of particular clothing.” He rubs his head, not exactly sure why he is apologizing. Coming down here was a horrible mistake. 

“Don’t worry about it, I'll treat you just like I do Harry and the others as annoying siblings I never wanted but am sorta endeared to now.” She pats him on the back and dumps a mixing bowl into his hands. “Now stir this as I try and figure out how to work the oven so we don’t blow up due to the gas.” 

Despite himself, feels the corners of his face pull upward to a small real one. For a moment, one moment, Tom Riddle feels normal. He is not a freak from the orphanage, he is not an orphan with no friends, no family, or anyone that wants to spend time with him. He is 16 years old watching a possible friend dancing in the kitchen in poor lighting at nearly 11 at night. Music blaring songs he can pretend to know and nod along to. It's not as if he is an unwanted stranger, a bystander, or a shadow forced to the corners as everyone pretends that he isn’t there or watches him like he is going to kill them. There is no houses, no need to point out how stupid and pointless the task is. He has no want for a wand. He doesn’t worry about Death looming over him. He forgets about Voldemort and Dumbledore in favor of tasting cookie dough and not caring if he could get salmonella, listening to Tonks make different impersonations of the singers, and radio announcers. He lets himself laugh at the stupid faces she makes. 

~/*\~

The room of requirements is stacked high with endless items, they have been searching for a long time, it feels like an eternity. 

“Sir.” Harry trunks to him. “I was wondering if there was something important you were keeping from me.” 

Blue eyes shift to him. “Did Tom bring this on?” 

There is something in the way that he says it, that makes Harry wonder if there really was possible darkness hiding in what normally felt like such warm eyes. 

“No, it was just Serius was sent out on a mission. He almost died for whatever it was, and as soon as he was well he wanted to send you a letter, he was desperate. I want to know why it was so important, that he had to risk his life for it.” Harry quickly covered. “It's not a complete lie as he has wanted to know. “I worry because you agreed not to keep things that could drastically change the war from me.” 

Dumbledore nods his head, seemingly relieved, and Tom beseeching eyes flash in his head. “I had him watching Ollivanders. I figured that Voldemort would try to get a new wand, a more powerful one than he owns as yours and his are connected. Sirius was to make sure that the wandmaker was not taken prisoner nor all the wands seized. Olivander would not close his shop you see, so Sirius was assigned as a literal guard dog. An act that he failed, but fought admirably for the cause.” 

“So Voldemort is trying to replace his wand?” Harry says slowly, “what did this have to do with a Dark Wizard visit?” 

“I went to see an old acquaintance. He was once the owner of a very powerful wand. I had heard that after seeking out other wandmakers than just Olivander that Voldemort had tried to break into where he was held.” 

“And.” Harry brushes and nearly knocks over a table of random things. 

“Gellert was dead, as well as part of his guard.” Dumbledore scoots around a fallen pile of books. “It leads me to believe that he knows who has the most powerful wand there is.” 

Harry’s throat feels dry. “Why would you not tell me this? It’s war changing…” 

“I needed to be sure Harry. I did not want to needlessly raise alarm.” It’s a lie. Harry wishes the other wouldn’t do this. He wants so desperately to trust the other but he did not make it easy. Tom might have been onto something… Harry really would hate to admit that. 

“Is the wand safe?” Harry forces himself to ignore the blatant lie.

“It is still in my possession.” Dumbledore tilted his wand lowering it ever so slightly the Lumos dancing across more junk. “Though I would think I have risen to priority one, even above yourself Harry.” 

There is a hissing, whispering voice. Harry stops, turns, and starts to move in that direction. He can not tell why, but everything in him says that he needed to go left and that he would find what he sought. He can hear it the closer that he gets. It sounds almost like hissing, like Tom in tone but slightly lower. There is a small tiara or crown in a box. He knows what it is the second that he sees it. It calls to him and he can see dark black smoke trapped under the large blue gem. And yet even though it should feel like unmistakable evil, it's calling to him as if offering a warm hug. 

“Good work Harry.” Dumbledore pats him on the arm, startling him out of his trance. “I know how to destroy these now.” 

Harry feels something in him almost wants to revolt, vomit at the thought. Maybe it is because he knows that this is someone's soul, even though it's Voldemort’s it's also Tom’s in a way. “What will happen to Tom if we destroy them all?” 

It really has not occurred to him, but now he can’t stop thinking about it. The boy that sits near him at breakfast now. The smug stupid boy that has done great evil, yet days ago in Dumbledore’s eyes and Harrys seemed capable of being redeemed. Harry still thinks that perhaps he didn’t have to be Voldemort. 

“He will be fine Harry,” Dumbledore says with confidence that he should not have had, there is no way that he could know that. The older man senses his unease as he takes out the Slytherin locket. “He is a combination of soul shards, if anything this will give him a few pieces back.” 

Harry watches the locket swing loosely from the blackened hand. “Harry I am going to teach you a particularly dark spell that should work, should you find yourself needing to destroy a Horcrux and out of goblin made weapons dipped in basilisk venom.” 

Harry watches Dumbledore set the diadem and locket next to each other. The whispering has gotten louder, it's starting to hurt his head a little. 

“Fiendfyre. Is a dangerous spell. Regardless of what happens after the spell, we can not be near the flames, do not let them touch you.” 

Harry nods, folding his clock and storing it so he won’t have to worry about it being singed. 

Dumbledore whispers the spell, and a large phoenix bigger and larger than anything in life rises from the tip of his wand. It flaps its massive wings of nothing but red hot liquid flame. Each beat showering embers that start more fires that turn almost blue. The bird climbs to the ceiling and dives down at its target, smashing, deforming, and splattering outward in a roar of flame. The fire engulfed the table that the objects had sat. Molten lava flows down over stone. Screaming, screaming fills his head as the soul shards are destroyed. It hurts so greatly that he holds his head trying to get the sound to stop. He is yanked hard and he remembers that yes he needs to run. Funny how the brain could turn off when it was both awed and terrified . The blazing river flows toward him. The room fills with nothing but light, heat, and smoke. 

They climb over piles of sinking debris and melting metal. The door greets them and Dumbledore waits only seconds after he is through to shut the doors and bar them. The liquid leaks through the door and is shielded from reaching the rest of the castle by Dumbledore’s sheer will. The doors seem to bend and curve to almost C’s in shape. Yet they hold. The noise is impossible to miss, the sound of near earth-shattering cracking, as bricks sound like they are being torn from the castle and like Hogwarts herself is groaning in pain from the strain of trying to put out unholy hellfire. It sounds like two large heavy knocks as something hits the door and then once more and then there is silence. A few precious seconds of it. 

It's enough to breath and think that perhaps things will be okay as 4 of the 7 Horcruxes are gone. 

Yes, it is maybe 30 seconds before there are people rushing from beds and shouting. A few of them Harry recognizes, and they stand aside. One face is missing in the sea of Gryffindors, he will never see her join her lions again, Mcgunagall is dead. She had died protecting the first years when the castle had fallen. 

It becomes apparent who is against them as they push to the front. It shall be Dumbledore and himself versus all the Death Eater teachers. Harry isn’t much use, as the spells start flying. They are too fast, cast from all directions. He only seems to be getting in the way as Dumbledore directs them where they need to go. Still, he has to try. 

Harry shields and returns curses, nothing lethal but certain to leave a mark. It's when Snape is forced to enter the battle in the Dark Lord’s favor that things go downhill and go downhill fast. Severus would always be a far better dauler than Harry, and Harry had faced him many times for training. They start losing then and there, there are just too many of them. He feels some spell slash his side and then another slice his arm. 

Pain. 

Near blinding. 

Dumbledore’s bleeding too. It's then that Harry’s heart really goes into overdrive. It's one of the few times in his life that he fears they might lose. He might not make it. Dumbledore is not at full strength; he is weaker because of his illness. Because of that stupid bloody ring that Harry notices is no longer on his finger. Harry manages to shield them as they retreat down the corridor trying not to be surrounded. He feels a slicing hex, grazes his face. He feels another get his side. 

Severus tightens the ground as he should to play his role, but Harry can see in his eyes he does not want this. Dumbledore knocks 3 Death Eaters back with a water spell that freezes them solidly on impact, they break as they hit the ground into sparkling shards. 

They reach the statue that will be their way out. Snape and Dumbledore share a look as Harry is shoved into the passageway. The portkey that is around his neck activated as the loud voice of Severus shouts those horrible words, and there is a flash of green light. He sees Dumbledore dodge it, and then someone else fires a red spell. It slices the old man nearly in half. His horrified face looking at Harry one last time reaching for him. The wand of legends tumbles from his fingers and is crushed under the statue that is turning. He feels someone grab him by the leg nails digging into him. 

The world whips past him. 

Harry tumbles onto the floor of Grimmauld place, bleeding, and knowing that the secret keeper to the house is dead, the house would be findable. Dazed he struggles to get the hands off of him and his wand to a defensive position, wrestling with the Death Eater, that grabs his neck and squeezes. Slamming his head into the ground, Harry swears he sees stars. There is the sound of a radio screeching to a halt. And a shout and the Death Eater goes flying. 

Tonks hits the man with another spell. Amycus Carrow’s hood falls down as he tries to throw an exploding curse at her and it shatters the lamp. He ducks and puts his wand to his mark. Harry curses him with a stupify, but it's too late. The call has been made the mark pulses, with life. There is the sound of shattering glass, and hard sharp thuds as more Death Eaters or corrupt Ministry officials join the party. 

“Tom, get out of the way!” Tonks barks at him. Throwing the teen behind her as the front door is blasted off its hinges. Wood exploding outward. Harry covers his head and face with his arm. Tom yanks him behind the corner toward the stairwell. There are shouts from upstairs, crashes. Screams. “Get Harry out of here.” 

The command is not one that Harry wants to allow Tom to follow. 

“Sirius.” Harry panics. 

“Not our problem at the moment.” Tom snaps. “You're bleeding badly.” 

He does feel slightly light-headed, but it's not like he can do much about that now. The room shakes as Tom pulls at him again, thin fingers near bruising. Tom is terrified, it's not a look that he thought he would ever see on the other. He promised to protect the Slytherin, he remembers vaguely now. He grits his teeth, as he wrenches the hand off of him, in time to help Tonks verse the two at the door. He casts a knock-back spell that deters one momentarily and Tonks is forced backward into the kitchen. His next spell misses and his wand hand shakes horribly. 

He takes a step to move from cover and Tom yanks at him again. “You can’t help her, you're hardly standing upright.” 

“Shut up.” Harry manages, his head is killing him. His vision is getting worse. He shakes his head trying to force himself to focus. 

“You idiot give me your wand,” Tom demands. “You can’t fight so let me.” He holds out his hand and Harry stumbles branching against the wall. 

“I'm not giving you my wand.” He says breathlessly. 

“I'm not asking.” Tom cheats, poking him hard on the injured side and Harry is forced to let go due to the pain that shoots up it. 

“You…” He starts, feeling faint staggering trying to reach for the future Dark Lord, that is smiling slightly at him. “Bastard…” He crashes to the ground. 

“My apologies but you can’t use it correctly,” Tom says from above him.


	9. Quality  Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I back!

Spells shatter things in the living room. The kitchen that he had been baking in moments ago is alive with echos and painful shouts. Tom holds the wand in his hand, it feels like his yet he can tell that he has not won its favor. Stubborn like its owner. It knows well he is not the person that’s looking up at him. Tom turns it over in his hand. Letting it feel his magic.

‘I’m not going to get your owner killed.’ He tells it, letting it feel his intentions. 

Intent is the source and power behind all magic and he has nothing, dark against its previous wielder. Perhaps at one time, but Harry had changed that. A connection was between them, and hate no doubt soon for Dumbledore. 

Every self-preserving part of him tells him to run. Run now quickly and fast, take the wand and the magic, and make a run for it. Tonks had practically willed it, given him permission to leave with Harry and save his own skin. He owed these people near nothing, they were ordered to watch him, keep tabs on him. They had wanted him to be left in the cell and cold the second that they knew what he could be capable of. Tonks was kind to him though, Harry in his own way… 

He would honor Tonks's wish. 

He hits the man that has come from the living room backward and away from himself. The man flys out the broken door and tumbles down the steps. He is replaced by 2 other masked individuals that waste no time stepping through the doorway over their fallen comrade. 

This place was getting too crowded for his liking. 

“Accio bag.” The bag he has packed flies down the stairs, knocking a few pictures off the walls. He puts it over his shoulder. Harry has managed a kneeling position, his arm is wobbling, trying to push himself back upright. 

He looks pathetic, though Tom would be lying if it didn’t send a small wave of power his way. He liked the other on his knees close to him. After all, Harry had made him mortal again. And yet, it really doesn’t seem fair to leave him like that. Cursing what was left of his conscience and the need that if the people he has been staying with survive this would try and hunt them down it doesn't help pushing him to act. 

“This is going to hurt.” He grabs onto the other, leaning him against him. Harry hisses and it almost sounds like a curse in parseltongue. 

How was it even possible that his future self could not figure out that Harry was a Horcrux? He had to be deliberately blind to it. Harry he could see being in denial of what he is, Voldemort should have known. 

A man fires a course from above. Tom wastes no time hurling an Avada at him, that he barely dodges and he doesn’t try another. At least not at the moment. Tom has scared him off. Tom though watches the corner debating what best to do. Wand at the ready he dares to take them across the hall. He whips a few exploding charms towards the front door. The hall setting on fire, providing him with a shield to keep moving. 

Harry hisses again, mumbling something inaudible. Probably about his use of an unforgivable. The truth behind everything was that if someone was dead there wasn’t much that they could do to hurt you. It was the most effective way to stop an enemy that wanted to do the same to you. War was not a time for mercy, the first world war had shown him how merciless Muggles and Humans could be to one another. 

Someone screams from upstairs it sounds like Molly. It only makes him pause only a moment, before just kicking open the bathroom door as his hands are full. He grunts dropping Potter by the toilet. He tries to move and Tom looks at him sharply. 

“Don’t be an idiot, you’ll only bleed more.” He ripped the cabinets over for the medical kits. Tossing the bandages towards him. He bars the door as there is more crashing and screaming. He makes sure that it's near unbreakable before he tries to think of another solution to their problems. 

“Tonks…” Harry gasps. 

“Can handle herself, she is buying time for us to get ourselves somewhere safe. You know who will be coming don’t you.” Tom turns towards him, bending down to help with the bandages as the other is fumbling. He puts the wand in his front pocket, not liking not having it in his hand, but knowing they wouldn’t be going anywhere in Harry’s condition. He needed to be stable first. One bad splinch and that was it. Harry couldn’t lose any more blood. 

“Coward.” Harry coughs, blood dripping everywhere from the arm that he will not hold still for him to tie the bandages on.

The door rattles and Tom’s spells hold. He takes his eyes off his work for a second and returns Harry’s stare. Those green eyes, so expressive, so alive. Tom likes them even when they look at him like that. He can feel the soul shard now, he can feel that piece of himself as he feels blood against his fingers. 

Tom ties the one around his arm tighter than needed. No longer wanting to look in those eyes anymore. He must break the spell. “You think he will not come if he knows your location? My location? We put them at greater risk by not just leaving.”

Harry glares at him, but it's not as harsh. He knows. He knows Tom’s right, he just doesn’t want to admit it. There are more sounds of things breaking. The door is being rammed into. 

“I’m no coward. “ Tom continues. “'I’ve done things that one could consider Gryffindor. Don’t think yourself special for resisting him.” Tom casts a spell to stitch his side up. Such a useful spell he learned for that one time a follower had hurt another. Tom hadn’t wanted to have them head to the medical bay have it revealed what they were up to. They had to practice somehow. 

Harry makes a muffled cry. Small tears slipping from the corners of his eyes. Tom wants to tell him to be quiet but the cracks and sounds of apparition cover the noise and it's not like the intruders didn’t think that no one was in the bathroom. They knew someone was in there, but it was worth them not figuring out who. 

He starts throwing anything else in the room that might be useful into the bag. Towels, soap, paper, medical supplies. 

“Take this, it will help with the pain.” Tom can sympathize, having been slashed to ribbons for the Dark Lord’s enjoyment not even a month ago. 

Harry’s hand shakes but he manages to bring it up to his lips. There's another ram at the door. 

“Is he here?” A high pitched female voice echoes down the hallway. 

That voice…. Tom knows that voice. He stills, hearing it. Harry must know too because he looks near murderous at the door now. He is trying to get up and Tom yanks him back down. 

“I’d love to kill her too, but we can’t go out there.” Tom keeps his voice level and quiet as if he is explaining this to a child and in a way Harry reminds him of one at that moment. Small, vulnerable, shaking, hand gripping hard against his t-shirt. Tonks made him at least appreciate the band name on it. “You know how to apparate right?” Tom coxes. 

Harry slowly nods. 

“Good you're going to have to do it, I haven’t had the training.” Harry’s eyes widen, he looks ready to protest and Tom presses his hand against his lips. “Just tell me if you can’t handle it, because if you can’t handle it. I have to go with option 2.” 

“Option 2.” Harry whispers. 

“Much more Slytherin than you would like.” 

“If you're going to…” Harry starts to struggle. 

“No. I wouldn’t hand him you.” Tom hisses at him. “Now calm down and apparate us out of here.” 

Harry closes his eyes and Tom grips his good arm tightly with his good hand and the bag with his other. There is that awful feeling of his ears popping and the rush of air and they hit the ground hard. Tom rolls, feeling the earth under him bang into him, rocks sharp against his face. The dirt and mud greet him, as he tries to get up, in a slight daze soaking him to the bone, as the sky above rumbles. It's so dark there is nearly no light. The idiot had dropped them in the middle of the forest, in the middle of a storm. 

He blinks in near disbelief for a moment, thinking that had to be the worst apparition that he has ever been a part of. He just hopes against all hope nothing is splinched on Potter, and that he is alive so that Tom can kill him for dropping them in the Goddamn forest away from civilization and anything remotely useful. 

Thank god he has magic, he lights Harry’s wand. Scanning the ground for any loose items from his bag. He picks up the small shampoo bottle that has escaped and then sways the light to find his unwanted traveling companion. 

Harry has rolled, near some rocks, and isn’t moving his face in the wet soil. He is breathing, Tom can tell that much. He bends down, pants sinking into the muck, rain making it hard to see, as his hair is getting in his face. 

“What the hell Potter,” Tom growls grabbing at him. The boy is however limp, completely out. Tom’s anger dissipates as quickly as it has come to him. He can feel the others light breathing, and knows he is magically exhausted. He had pushed Potter and it is a miracle that they ended up together in one piece. He can feel the goose egg on the other's head. 

Tom closes his eyes briefly, sighing deeply. “You owe me.” 

He drags him under a tree and proceeds to start to transfigure useless things into a tent, and some bedding. He drys clothes and changes the others' bandages. Places some wards up, just to be safe, and then tramples his way back through the sludge back to the tent and repeats the process, as Harry just sleeps the night away. 

“You really owe me.” Tom runs a hand through his damp hair and just collapses tired past the point of exhaustion, wishing right about now that he had a really hot bath. 

~/*\~ 

Harry wakes under a soft thin blanket. His head is pounding, he panics slowly realizing that he is in a place that does not recognize. There is the sound of running water. Tom is sleeping back to him with a folded towel under his head. He looks peaceful.

He rubs at his scar, as even it feels tingly. He rolled over last night flashing in his head. Dumbledore and the fire, the near splitting of the man in half by the curse. Old hands reaching for him. Blood so much blood. He doesn’t realize how deeply he is breathing till Tom sits up, or rather flails like a fish on land. Startled beyond belief and gripping at his chest. 

Harry looks at him regretfully, there are darker marks under his eyes. He knows that building all of the comforts that he was currently enjoying could not have been easy. He suddenly feels guilty about last night. Sure Tom had played dirty, but he had patched him up and had been right that they were not really in a position to fight. It's obvious that Tom is a capable wizard by the looks of things, but he might not have been great at combat if he relied purely on unforgivables. 

“You should go back to sleep, you look awful.” Harry attempts to smile.

“You look worse, I am certain.” Tom wipes at his face and eyes. 

“Debatable.” Harry disagrees. 

“Where are we?” Tom shifts the topic. “When I asked you to apparate, I was thinking you would bring us to the other safe house, not the middle of nowhere.” 

Harry sighs deeply. “To tell you the truth, this is the first place I thought of in clarity. Hermione brought us here. We needed a vacation, a small outing as we had lost a lot of people. Ron had his brother killed in the taking of the ministry, Hermione’s parents were murdered, Mcgonagall, Neville, and so many others…” 

Last summer, he can see them throwing stones into the lake, Ron teaching Hermione because she had no idea how. The crying between radio reports and songs. It was hard, things were awful. But it was better here than in the stuffy house, out here had been the first places that he could think. Those names mean nothing to Tom. Harry knows that, but still he can not keep the pain from his voice, the raw emotion thinking about more people that would die, or had died because of last night. Because Harry could not face Voldemort yet and because Dumbledore was dead. 

Harry cuts himself off knowing that he is rambling. “We just wanted to forget for a moment go somewhere peaceful. It was safe here, so I thought about it. It's one of the safest places besides Hogwarts that I have ever been to. I also didn’t know if the other place had been compromised. The secret keeper is dead.”

Tom looks out towards the woods silently and though the tent flap, Harry can watch the heavy drops falling. 

“Dumbledore's dead then,” Tom says quietly, hardly hearable over the rain. His brown eyes shifted to Harry. 

“Yes,” Harry tells him honestly because he would find out regardless. 

Tom laughs, it's bitterly and near hysterically. “You know I did want him to die, die for what he was planning to do. But I will be lying if I am not terrified of what this means. Vold…” 

Harry rushes him slamming into him and covering his mouth before he can finish it. He pants, from the exertion. They are really close like this, hardly space between them. Tom’s lips are soft, and his breath is warm against his hand. 

“Don’t say his name.” He waits to see and feel the other nod to let go. He sits slowly down next to the Slytherin.

“Were you not the people saying his name repeatedly, to show you had no fear of it.” Tom narrows his eyes. 

“That's when there are strong wards present. It's trackable without them.” Harry listened to the rain threaten even harder against the tent. There are a few seconds of stillness till the thunder gives a small grumble that goes well with Harry's hunger. 

“The last thing we need is Death Eaters.” Tom agrees. “So it's the Dark Lord then?” 

“Among other names, we don’t have to address him so formally. Voldie, Snake face, noseless, and the man that let the boy live, are just a couple of my favorites. I also have been known to call him Tom but I won’t be using that one anymore.” 

Tom nodded. “I would rather he not soil that one as well.” Tom hesitates before adding. “I suppose I could be persuaded to call him Ol’ no Nose, Incompident Fool, and Baldy.” 

Harry laughs softly. “Perhaps Moldy could also be acceptable.” 

Tom shakes his head. “I never imagined that I would make fun of a name that I choose to strike fear into the hearts of my enemies.” 

Harry smiles. “Well you did pick a decent one, there wouldn’t be as many fun names to call if he didn’t decide to go noseless.” 

Tom shakes his head again. There is a long silence between them again and Harry retreats a little more away from the other. 

“You said that you were worried about what Dumbledore could do to me…”

“I never said I was worried about you.” Tom snipped. 

“You didn’t have to say it, you being upset on my behalf was enough.” Harry countered. 

“I wouldn’t have wanted someone to do that to me, I have been through little treacheries but that one was far too great.” Tom rests his head against the tent wall. 

“I asked him.” Harry watches him as he nearly shuts his eyes. He didn’t look like a Dark Lord, he didn’t even look like a killer to him anymore. He just looks like a person that is weighed down by too many unchangeable mistakes. 

“Did you?” Tom asks, “and you are okay with it?”

“He told me about the wand, the unbeatable one from the stories of old. The brothers and Death. Mrs. Weasely said that some believe in it. And Dumbledore found that wand, it was once owned by Grindelwald that _He_ went to see. Voldy killed Grindlewald when he wouldn’t tell him more about the wand. That's what our dream relates to, he got frustrated and stole Ollivander to make him a new one, nearly killing Sirus in the process. Dumbledore had the elder wand, but it was crushed, thankfully.”

“So the Deathly Hallows are real?” Tom buries his head in his hands. “That wand better not be fixable then or he better not have found the others, or we will be in real trouble.”

Harry agrees with his grim assessment. 

“That's not what I wanted you to find out from him.” Tom sounds like he is about to give particularly bad news, and is trying to put it delicately. “I said I wouldn’t tell you, purely because he threatened my safety and well being.” 

Harry is vividly reminded of the books flying off shelves, the dark look on the former headmaster's face. 

_It stays between us, Tom._

“I suppose there is no good way to soften the blow.” Tom mumbles. “I mean if it was me, I would want to know.”

“Just tell me.” Harry all but snaps. “Don’t dance around it.” 

“You and Vold… Him share a connection. I share it too. You can feel it too, can't you when we're close together? It’s like our emotions are heightened around each other. I pick up on how you're feeling.” Tom's brown eyes burn with life and worry. “It's because the 3 of us share a soul.” 

Harry feels like vomiting. “You don’t mean.” His voice leaves him without him wanting it to. He doesn’t want to know… he doesn’t. 

“Yes, you’re a Horcrux.” Tom doesn’t look away from him. He reaches out slowly and grabs his sleeve as if that will help ground him. “Dumbledore told me that you would have to die, we all would at the right time.” 

It's static, Harry can’t think. He can’t breathe. He just can’t… 

Everything he has ever known is a lie. 

All the times he had sought to please the other, looked up to the other, defended him. He had been waiting to kill him. 

All this time… Dumbledore knew. He knew what Harry was and never told him. Lied to him with comforting words. Told him that he was not Voldemort, that they were not the same, professed how Harry was good and that Tom Riddle was pure evil. All those hugs, those warm words, those thoughtful gifts. 

He was planning to kill him. 

He sucked in a breath. 

Dumbledore was kind to him purely because he needed to raise him for the slaughter. Voldemort would have killed him the second that he had the chance. It insured that after all the Horcruxes were destroyed that it would all end in a nice little bow. Voldemort would kill Harry in the last dual. He would then kill himself, in the process. No one would be none the wiser. Harry would die the perfect little hero. Never having known real love for another, never having his own family he dreamed of having at night, never able to truly live because he was always on the run.

He doesn’t realize that he is sobbing until he has just slumped into Tom who's just sitting there, nowhere to go trapped in the tent with him. Dragged into this mess because of Harry destroying parts of his soul. Playing his own role in it all just because a twisted old man deemed it so.

Was there anyone else that knew? 

How many people that he loved were just waiting for the day that they would let him die. 

“For what it’s worth,” Tom says quietly, not complaining by the action that Harry has taken, not the clinging. He perhaps understands that Harry’s world is shattering. “I am sorry.” He petted his back, kind light touches, unsure. 

He can almost feel the other's unease now that he is looking for it. Feels it deeply, as if it is part of his own feelings. They have a connection, not like Voldemort’s and his. Where Voldemort’s touch scorched, burned, hurt. Tom’s is warm, gentle. He wonders if it's because they are not the same, Tom’s half is not too far gone. Or maybe it’s because Tom doesn’t hate him, has accepted him as part of himself. He doesn’t understand it, he’s not Hermione. He knows nothing of theories and such, but this just seems to makes sense in some twisted way. It’s a gut trusting sort of thing, something that one just knows and feels. 

“Did he tell you?” Harry asked hoarsely once he felt able to.

“Tell me what?” Tom tilts his head, and he can feel his cheek against his hair. He can hear the other's heart, he can feel it, and his breathing. Harry wonders if the other can feel his. Feel how lost he is, how much it all hurts. 

“What you were,” Harry asks softly. 

“What I was?” Tom blinks, shifting away from him so that he can look into his eyes. Harry blinked and he can see himself reflected in the brown, red. 

“You’re a Horcrux too… multiple,” Harry says quietly. “You didn’t fall through time, you were just from the energy of what was left over after a Horcrux was destroyed. Dumbledore explained it to me. I don’t really understand it, but it explains how you can exist at the same time and place without collapsing time.”

Tom takes this news completely differently than Harry. He just starts laughing hysterically, like it is the greatest joke that he has heard in his whole life. He laughs until there are pricks of tears in the corners of his eyes. He starts clawing at the scabs around his neck and at his face. Harry has to shake him to get him to stop. He then just holds onto the other, holds him so that he doesn’t actually hurt himself. Tom is just a broken thing. 

They are both broken things.

People that have been discarded, grew up orphans, have been taken advantage of and abused. They have been hated for unfair reasons and things that they could not change about themselves. Yes, they have fallen down different paths, but they still are at the end of everything two boys that started as nothing, pitiful, and ended up living tragedies, ones that would end together. 

Tom hugs him back, for whatever reason. He holds onto Harry as if he will disappear as if he has never had such kind touch in his life. Harry can see it in those eyes that close slowly, tears ending on long lashes. Fingers digging into Harry, tightly. 

“Isn’t it funny?” Tom says after what feels like years, what could have been minutes or nearly an hour. Harry doesn’t know. All he knows is that the rain is slowing. That he is tired, and that the words are being muffled by his shoulder that Tom’s head is buried in. “He damned the both of us.” 

“Fate has always hated me.” Harry looks at the ceiling. “I suppose this was her next big joke. The question is where to go from here.”

“Is there even anywhere?” Tom pulls away. Not far, they are very close. Knees still touching. “He will hunt us, anyone that knows will hunt us for a different reason.” 

Harry wonders how many hits it has taken for Tom Riddle of all people to sound like he has given up. 

“I have always been particularly gifted at running.” Harry smiles, he knows that it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I am sure that you're the same.” 

“I named myself flight from Death.” Tom smiles slightly. “I have outrun the second world war, illness, and even Death himself by making the very thing that I am now. But running will get old, it's never going to be safe.”

“You can’t honestly be saying you think that we should listen to Dumbledore’s demand and sacrifice ourselves.” Harry feels a slow surge of anger boiling under the surface. 

“Don’t be a fool.” Tom snaps at him. “I don’t care what I started out as, I am me, and I don’t want to die. I am saying that perhaps there could be a 3rd option.” 

“Destroy the remaining Horcruxes and his body.” Harry tilted his head. “He could still come back. He is pretty persistent.” 

“Yes, like a bad cancer.” Tom seems to be thinking it over. “There is no good way to cut him off, but we could perhaps depower him, imprison him like Grindlewald.” 

“It could work,” Harry admits. He never really wanted to Kill Voldemort anyway. Yes, he wanted him to pay for his crimes, but Harry never had wanted to be a murderer.

“Of course this, you do realize, hinges on the fact that Dumbledore did not tell anyone else what we were.”

Harry swallowed thickly. “He told Ron and Hermione his suspicion of what you were.”

~/*\~

Tom swears that he sees red. “And you did not think to tell me?”

“Dumbledore was asking us to make peace with you at the time, and wasn’t certain of anything.” Harry defends himself poorly. “I didn’t know how you would react, or if it was right to tell you.” 

“Of course.” Tom snarled. “I told you, warned you, and you didn’t think to warn me.” 

“I didn’t trust you then.” Harry grabs onto him. “I saw the Diary when I looked at you, you can’t blame me. That Tom Riddle from my childhood manipulated me, nearly killed me, and my best friend's little sister.”

“And you trust me now?” Tom asks in disbelief, trying to pry the other off of himself. The action ends up toppling them to the ground in a mess of tangled limbs. Harry ends up on top regardless of his struggles, he can’t beat a smaller boy. It's embarrassing, yet he doesn’t really want to hurt Harry. He could if he wanted to. He could really hurt him, Harry’s wand is just an arms reach away and he didn’t even need that to jam fingers into that injured side. 

“Yes,” Harry says breathlessly, his green eyes shining in the bad lighting, and from the tears, he had been shedding. “I trust you, you earned it. I’d trust you now with my life.” 

He is rendered speechless. 

Harry releases his arms, the pin is loose now. He could throw him off. 

Yes, he has helped Harry now quite a bit. But to give him that level of trust… To give someone he knows has the possibility to become a monster keys in which to hurt him, leave himself unguarded like that. Tom can not imagine it. No one he has ever known has shown him this level of trust. No one should trust him like that. Tom wouldn’t even trust himself not to stab the other in the back when it was convenient. 

Yet he believes Harry. Believes him as he looks down at him. 

He is really screwed… 

Nothing could have prepared him for a twist like this one. He was the one that had the cards an hour ago. He knew what Harry was and could use that to be closer… But Harry knows what he is too and is trusting him. And he wants to both twist the knife and show Potter how foolish he is to trust anyone and prove everyone wrong that he is not a monster. There is no one in the world that someone should trust completely. People burned you. People used you. And yet it hurts something awful the thought of using Harry or vice versa. He thinks about saying what that means to him, he thinks about kissing the other at that moment because those lips are too close to his, and the way that Harry seems to care, and is looking at him is providing a very strange form of temptation that he hasn’t felt before. It would be so easy to change the hold. 

“Can you let me up?” He finally clicks his brain’s logical side back on. Harry seems to realize how awkward this is because he promptly gets off of him. 

“Yeah sorry.” He nods jerkingly. 

“Thanks.” Tom nods just as stupidly back.

“Don’t mention it,” Harry says quickly. They separate to their sides of the tent. “Did you pack any food?” 

“No.” Tom answers just as quickly. “We can try and get something after the rain settles. 

“Yeah… Okay.” Agrees Harry.


	10. Survivors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome, Back.

Harry has to practically wrestle Tom to use his own wand to get them to civilization, a small town near the forest preserve. There is a small hunting, and sports store where they load up on things a person would need if they were really going camping for a long time, a real tent, sleeping bags, knives, and cookware. Harry wants to pay for it but knows that there are no funds nor is there any way to exchange the gold he has for muggle money. He lets Tom take what they need reluctantly. The older teen is really good at this sort of thing, even without magic, he is sure that Tom would have been able to rip the store off hundreds of pounds.

They don’t go for long, they take only what they need to spend a few weeks in the forests from the multiple different shops, shrinking things down and altering memories. They will need to decide what to do after the batch of supplies runs out, where to go. Harry isn’t thrilled with the idea of abandoning everyone and everything, but he also knows that learning magic from other places around the world might be a good strategy in standing a chance in beating Voldemort. 

If the goal is to depower him rather than destroy him, they are going to need strong magic. Magic that even Tom doesn’t know and he seems to know everything. He is like a less bossy version of Hermione. While Hermione would spout Magical theory as she did something as if that would make it stick into Ron’s and his head, and command them to study more. Tom just called him an idiot and demanded that he just hand the wand over so that he could do it himself. Harry would be lying if he said it didn’t make him angry, but it wasn’t like he could really argue with the other. There was so much Magic that Harry just didn’t know. The only practical things he really knew were combat and defensive based. Tom on the other hand knew that in spades, and the basic mending, and household charms. 

When all things were said and done, the tent was waterproof, self-cooling, had enchanted storage areas that would make sure their food did not spoil, and one decent sized mattress that could fit two people in their separate sleeping bags. It was still tight, as Tom didn’t know how to enlarge the tent to make it like a house on the inside. Hermione probably did not know that either, she had bought a tent for such an occasion. But it was comfortable enough. 

Harry at least could chop wood for a fire and gather herbs that were related to potion-making. Hermione had pointed them out to him, his first time here. His body ached, but he could say unfortunately that he had been through worse. The first day of their self-isolation ended with warm canned soup and Tom telling Harry that even if it didn’t taste all that great it was ten times better than the broth he got as a kid at Wool’s when he was sick. Harry then told him about the cold canned tomato soup that his Aunt had given him that he only after eating it had found out that it had expired 2 years prior. Both of them seemed to argue on who had it worse in that regard. As he lay there in bed, on the mattress close enough to Tom’s to hear him breathing, he could not help but think that misery did really seem to love company. He would not nearly be as put together if Tom had not been ordering him around and not giving him enough time to dwell on the nosedive that his life had taken in less than 24 hours. Because the second that the other was out like a light, he felt it. He felt all the guilt and dread come rushing back. 

He felt everything that he was trying so hard to close himself off from. He didn’t think that Tom was handling it much better than he was, but the Slytherin was just better at composing himself than Harry. 

~/*\~

 _A boy clutches a small suitcase close to his chest. All that he owns is shrunken and in there. He has 3 sets of school robes, a few books, and his potion making supplies. He nervously looks over his shoulder each time there is a bump or too long a stop, the bus is near empty. A few women are riding but there are no boys, no men. They have all been sent off to the war. He can feel a few of the women eyeing him, wondering what he is doing there. He does his best to look like he belongs there, and as if he is not of age. He doesn’t want anyone getting any wrong ideas. The war has destroyed everything. His grip on his suitcase tightens. Dippet had not let him stay, Dumbledore had turned him away. He couldn’t go back to Wools. He was 15 and they were looking for men to work jobs. He knew that Father Curtain would be trying to pass him off as older. He wanted to get rid of as many mouths as possible. He hated Tom, more than Dumbledore, more than anyone that still thought him a Mudblood. He would enlist him, or try really to get the devil out of him this summer. He felt like vomiting at the thought, no magic, in a war zone with bombs dropping. It’s his boggart he knows, his dead body lying there, crushed._

_He shakes his head to clear it. This was his only chance. He had family, family that could perhaps shelter him, just for a few months. Really only 2, Nott had said he could stay a few weeks before his Summer party. He didn’t know anything about them. He knew only that his mother had named him after his Grandfather, gifting him his middle name. He knew she was probably disowned for loving a muggle, but he was hopeful they would accept the last of their line, a boy. The Riddles lived there too. He doesn’t want to live with Muggles. Muggles are disgusting and have never treated him right. But he would do it if he had to. He has the documents to prove he is his father’s son. He had asked the ministry for the paperwork._

_When he was small he had always thought how wonderful his father must have been, when he had received magic, he thought there was no way a powerful wizard like that would have left him. He just had to find him. He imagined introducing himself, feeling loved, accepted. His father would have a suitable excuse, and Tom would forgive him if it meant that he could live safely and was well taken care of. Now that he is older he knows his father’s rich and just didn’t want him. It angers him, angers him to think of him leaving his mother to die. Leaving Tom to grow up alone, abandoned, worse than garbage, a devil’s child. Muggles… he closes his eyes. How He hates them. He hates his own father, but he would take what he was owed. If his magical relatives could not be persuaded he would persuade no matter the means the Muggles._

_Yet even now there is a small part of him, a very small part that wants to be accepted. Wants approval that he should not need, nor have to earn. He takes slow steps off the bus, not knowing where to go. He asks a few people, and they look at him with disgust._

_There is nothing to his family home but a shack, less than that, dirty and decrypt. There is a snake, a poor thing nailed to the door. It’s rotting face with no eyes and mouth open greets him._

_“Don’t go in there.” A boy around his age shakes his head. “You won’t like what you find.”_

_“Harry?” Tom recognizes him. He is not supposed to be here… “This is a dream.” He mutters._

_“Looks like it.” Harry sits on the rotting wood to the porch stair rail. “I have seen this house before in Dumbledore's Pensieve. I know how your confrontation with your uncle goes too.”_

_“Do you?” Tom smiles sharply. “Then you know what he said about my mother, the one that he and my Grandfather abused more than just physically and emotionally.”_

_Harry winces, knowing what he is saying. “Yes. I never knew what you did to the Muggles though other than killed them._

_“Would you like to see.” Tom abandons his suitcase, leaning closer to Harry. “I assure you they got what was coming to them.” He looms over him, trying to intimidate. Harry doesn’t give him anything, he stands his ground or rather looks bored by the action._

_“I can’t tell if you're saying that because you are proud of what you have done, or if you're trying to shake my faith in you.” Harry doesn’t back away._

_Tom smiles at that with a less full grin. “Both actually.”_

_“Why would you even try that?” Harry grabs at his hand to stop him from heading off towards the house on the hill. Riddle Manor overlooks all like it knows all or is above everyone else. “Don’t you want me to believe in you, trust you?”_

_“You know what I am. I’m a killer, I become Voldemort. I use people to meet my own ends. I am saving you a lot of heartache by letting you down easily.”_

_“You don’t get to decide who I have faith in or not.” Harry says definitely. “Besides I see right through you, you're not all bad. You helped me for mostly unselfish reasons.”_

_Tom laughs softly. “I would prefer not facing them again.” He lets his hand drop the second that Harry lets go. “It’s not that I’m scared of them it’s just…” He trails off, sighing, putting his hands into his pockets._

_He hasn’t smoked in forever, partially because it's not easy to get at Hogwarts, but he has the sudden urge. The dream seems to recognize this and gives him a pack in his pockets. He lights one and takes a long drag from it leaning against the shack, which seems to decay more by the moment. He sighs deeply in relief._

_Harry moves closer to him, not bothered at all by the smoke. “I know that it will sound stupid, but I would have liked to have grown up in an orphanage. The first time I saw the place you grew up, I thought how lucky it would be to be able to try and make friends with other kids, even if most hated me there was a chance of having someone. Growing up with my relatives was awful. They never wanted me. Hated me in fact, and all magic tried to beat it out of me. The Riddles probably wouldn’t have been great to live with, if they had been even remotely the same.”_

_Tom chuckles darkly, “Is this your attempt to be relatable?” He takes another long drag from his cigarette as Harry shrugs. He stares out at the old house in the distance. “I would not damn anyone to Wools. Perhaps in your time things would be nicer in a facility, but it was always dirty, lonely, and the other children cannibalized off each other. There were no real friendships.”_

_He closes his eyes, feeling the heat creeping up towards his fingertips. He can see nothing but empty halls, and hateful eyes. No matter the way he attempted to blend in. “I feared for my life on more than one occasion. No one gives a shit about orphans, they can go missing, people can do inexcusable actions to them, and they will never be caught or punished. Who were we going to tell? Some of us didn’t even know better.”_

_There had been no one to tell about the abuse, and doing so would have just been swept under the rug. Who was going to believe just how evil a pastor could be? Not when the church was pretty much the law of the land… He drops the cigarette after taking one last huff of it, knowing that it would have burned his fingers otherwise. He doesn’t know if he can feel pain in these serial situations but he knows that it feels real enough not to want to test it._

_“I didn’t understand just how bad the Dursleys were until school started.” Harry started walking, down the dirt path and back towards town. Tom quickly moves to follow him. The sky above them twists, with their darkening talk. “Did you hate it too? All the normal-seeming families walking around, hugging each other, encouraging their children to do well at things? I kept dreaming that one day, if I did the right thing, that they would accept me. Treat me like I was something other than a nuisance.”_

_If that didn’t hit the nail on the head. “You don’t need them.” Tom brushes past the other. “They are needless attachments.”_

_“You can’t honestly tell me that you never wanted one.” Harry disagrees._

_“Wanting and needing are two very different things. You might think you need something and find that you are quite happy without it.” He strides quickly down the way ignoring the people as they look at Harry and his strange clothing._

_“I wanted one too.” Harry watches a small group of children run by. Tom looks at his sad face, it's a stupid face. It really doesn’t suit him at all. The boy who lived had a decently warm smile and seemed to try and look on the bright side. They understand each other well enough. Tom supposes he doesn't have to answer to know Harry gets the gist of what he is feeling. He hasn’t really had anyone like that in his life. Someone that can see so well through the cracks, read between the lines. It's not a dance of words with Harry like it is with other Slytherins or Dumbledore. Harry doesn’t expose the weak spot like a wound, he does not dig his fingers in and rub salt. He is almost kind not to pry into it. To let them walk in silence back towards the bus stop. He is tempted to shake the other till he gets that far off look off his face. Tell him that there isn’t anything to be sad about. Families were stupid, having one was just to welcome more disappointment into your life._

_Harry had grown up with these Dursleys and just from the few sentences that he has heard about them, he knows that they are just like the Riddles, horrible excuses for people. Frightened of Magic, threatening violence for him daring to disrupt their perfect little lives, thinking they got away with dumping him at Wool’s by denying Merope's accusations. They couldn’t be held responsible for the fleeting passions made by a love potion and a night of drinking._

_The sky seems to rip open, and Harry grabs onto him, as the darkness threatens to drown them. Taking them to a room he is all too familiar with, it's just glass and broken furniture now. He can’t feel himself there anymore, the only thing grounding him is Harry’s grip on his arm. Grimmauld Place is in ruins, and there are a few bodies of Death Eaters, laying on the ground._

_**The boy was here** _

_The man standing there looks even less of a man, the way the shadows of their shared worlds blend. He has stopped talking almost like he knows that they are there. The familiar snake curls around the space at his feet. It shares its soul with them._

_**How many more people will he let die for him.**_

_Voldemort steps away, his movement blurred and reveals the dead body of a girl. One that Tom knows to be the youngest of Molly’s children. Harry looks devastated by this. The pain of it finally enough to kick them out of whatever this out of body experience was._

The tent greets him when he opens his eyes. Harry is already putting his shoes on and making a break for the outside. Tom rolls over, not wanting to deal with someone's emotions that were high. There was nothing that he could probably say to make it better. Sometimes people just needed to be alone. Harry left his wand, like a moron so he probably was not going to go far, or past the wards for that matter. 

Still, his side felt empty without the other, like a piece of him was missing as well as the warmth of another body nearby. 

~/*\~

Harry shakes as he makes his way to the lake. He can’t unsee Ginny there. She was supposed to be safe, away from the house. She must have come back, worried about them or something. How many more were dead? How many more people he cared for were going to die just so that Voldemort could blow off some steam? 

Ginny… He closes his eyes squeezing them tightly shut. He had expected tears to come, but none do. He supposes that he is just so used to this that there aren’t any left to shed, not even people that he once loved more than just as a friend. He isn’t sure that they really had a relationship looking back on it, but he had cared for her. She was like his sister, the Weasleys, his makeshift family. 

He takes off his shoes at the water's edge. Its calm waters are cool against his feet, and he doesn’t mind the sharper stones that he brushes with his toe. 

Would the Weasleys stand by and let him die if it could save other members of their family. They had lost Percy and now Ginny. Molly could have been killed as well. There was no chance that she would have let anything happen to her only daughter while she still breathed. 

He wadded a little out, feeling the cool water over his knees. He picks up one of the stones and tosses it. He again is making this all about himself. Worrying about what they will think of him, verse just remembering the good things about Ginny. 

Even with trying to think positively, he just can’t help but think of the chamber and how she had nearly died there, nearly died at 11 only to survive a few more years and have her life cut short. She was 16 which he supposes that Tom is the same age as her now. 

He picks up another stone and chucks it as far as it will go, it makes a loud Splunk. He picks up a few pebbles and throws them, and they fall like rain. The effort does nothing but aggravates his arm. He drags himself back to shore and just sits on one of the larger rocks at the bank. A few frogs chirp and he watches them move slowly away from him. At least they weren’t toads… that would have reminded him of Neville too much for his liking. 

He stares off into the distance seeing, but not really seeing. He feels numb to most things now, it's always the same thing. A sharp pain and then a dull ache, that faded into nothing as there is nothing that he can do. 

He feels a tap on his shoulder. Tom stands there. He doesn’t say anything and he doesn't have to. It’s nice to have someone worried about him, someone that knows his secret. 

“Thanks for coming to check up on me.” He turns back to watching the water. 

“I had to make sure that you didn’t drown yourself.” 

“In my sorrows or the water?” Harry just manages to smile. 

“I worry more about the water, you haven’t cried enough to drown.” Tom flicks at one of the frogs that must have climbed up onto the rocks. It lets out a high pitched squeak as it puffs up all big and backs up. 

“I think you really came out here to terrorize the wildlife.” Harry tilts his head, his black hair getting into his face. The wind has picked up a little, the darker clouds move and the grass and thin tree branches sway. There are now a few stars viable. 

Tom runs a hand through his hair. “Perhaps I have come to terrorize you?” 

“It’s not really effective. I don’t find you all that menacing.” 

“What about now?” Tom leans closer to him, bending near in half to reach Harry's eye level, smile sharp, eyes near glowing. He’s close almost too much so. His hair is a mess, and it naturally is wavy around the ends. He hasn’t noticed that before or that there's a small mole near his left eye like a small single freckle. 

Harry feels his face heat up. “Nope.” He turns back to the water.

Tom laughs at his own idea of a joke. “You sure retreated fast then, if I don’t bother you.” He stands up straight again moving up the bank towards the fallen log and uprooted tree. He balances onto it, moving out further towards the water without getting anything wet or sandy. He was probably the smart one. Lighting bugs dance near the water, like little lanterns. Harry could almost consider the night to be beautiful if it was not for what had brought him out into it. 

~/*\~

The days blend together. Tom fiddles with the muggle radio. He is convinced he can fix it so that they can listen to the news from the Wizarding world. There was apparently a trick to old radios because there were Muggle-borns in his time that had fixed theirs to work in Hogwarts and outside of it. Of course, Tom had never been fortunate enough to own his own. Radio had been in a golden age in his time. Every good respectable family had one. But he was sure that he could figure out if the Imbeciles like Cricks could figure it out. 

Harry lets him have his fun as he runs over maps and train schedules. If they want to really run for it, they need to get out of Europe. Voldie Warts was trying to expand his little empire to his favorite countries which Harry knew included Albania where he had gotten his tiara and had hidden for several years. 

Going towards Asia or down towards Africa seems like the right call. America was too much of a hassle to try and get paperwork for. The Ministry there was probably swarmed with Refugees already, and certainly wouldn’t have been thrilled with the possible Time Anomaly that would show up with any good magical blood test for Tom. Basic magic could fool Muggle authorities but the Magical and Goblin based security checkpoints was another matter entirely. 

Regardless of what they choose to do there was an inherent problem of funding. They could not steal forever and hope that no one caught on. The ministries around the world had departments partially to handle such things, especially people that abused their power over Muggles. It was treated very similarly to the mistreatment of animals. Yet another reason to hate the government. 

Harry had never understood Uncle Vernon’s rambles about politicians when he was younger, but now that he was older. He understood completely and far too well. He hated the Media more than the Ministry. He didn’t think there was anyone he hated more than Umbitch but Rita was very close, very close. Her and those assholes that wrote the Harry Potter children's novels starring him going on wacky and grand adventures. 

Harry had had enough adventures. He had enough being a hero to last a lifetime. All that he wanted was to be normal and happy. Happy seems really far away, he glances at Tom who is rubbing his face and pinching at his forehead. He is fed up with the radio, and yet he keeps playing with spells. Harry lets him have the wand. He is fine watching. 

Tom isn’t so bad, really Harry is starting to like him a lot more than most of the people he had to live with. He doesn’t snore like Ron. He is quiet and warm, too warm to be next to at times, but Harry would take that to him kicking him or something in his sleep. 

Tom catches him staring and narrows his eyes, suspiciously, scrutinizing him. His pinched face reminds him a little of Severus as if he is judging if something is a suitable potion or not. He waves and Tom shakes his head. Putting the wand down and stomping his way over to the table, like he is a child. It's almost cute, he muses. 

“I give up,” Tom mutters, handing the wand to Harry respecting the agreement that was struck about how much time each of them can use it. Harry argued since it was his that he should have it longer. Tom had argued that he was ill-suited to have the wand for too long as Harry had no idea how to do the most basic of spells. Harry might have shoved him for that one. 

“We could try to get a real one you know.” Harry shrugged.

“Too dangerous.” Tom counters right away, putting his foot down on the idea. “I merely meant that I was done for now. I can’t think with this heat.” 

“It will come to you, probably when you least expect it.” Harry gives a diplomatic response. He personally thinks that it is a waste of time, but the project is giving Tom something to take apart, and busy. The more time that he is busy the less that Harry sees him clawing at himself as if he is disgusted by what he is. He wonders if Voldemort had similar coping mechanisms or if it was purely a response to the trauma that Tom must have suffered to have the sheer amount of marks that he has on his body. There are too many to count, and some are deep. 

Harry doesn’t know what caused them, but he knows that those marks are a testament to suffering unimaginable. It’s no wonder Voldie went off the deep end. It’s not an excuse, but he can see the parallels. 

Toms muttering on about something that sounds like magical theory playing with one of the note pads and scribbling away on the notepad. His writing even in the quick motions is neat, neater than anything that Harry would have been capable of. Harry taps his hand on the table, in tune with the scribbles, scratching noises. 

Brown eyes lock with his pen pauses as Tom gives him a questioning look. “Do you have a tattoo on your hand?”

Harry’s eyes dropped to the hand that had the words ‘I must not tell lies.’ It had been a gift his fifth year from the defense teacher. After the whole fake Moody thing, Umbitch had taken the position. 

“No.” 

“It looks like a word.” Tom doesn’t ask to touch him, he just reaches over the table and yanks his hand to see it. He gets a very dark expression on his face. “This is a curse scar.” Tom traces it with his thumb, feeling the indents. 

“Yes.” Harry sighs. “It is.” 

“Who gave it to you?” The hint of murder dripping from his words, makes a chill go through Harry that makes his skin prickle. Yet it’s much like the expression that Hermione gave him when she knew, outraged on his behalf. 

“A bitch of a professor, she took over the whole school. Got herself killed though, didn’t believe that _HE_ was back or if she did she didn’t care. She just wanted to gobble up positions of power. Got too big for her own good. We both know that Old Noseless would never tolerate failure or a challenge to his authority. The funniest thing about it all is I got it from being completely honest.” 

Harry realizes that during this time Tom has not returned his hand to him, he's just holding onto it as if it belongs to him. He must realize that Harry has stopped talking and his eyes wander back to their joined hands. He then drops it as if it burned him. A very troubled expression graces his face as he gets up and takes the pen and paper with him, that Harry has a feeling has nothing to do with the radio. 

~/*\~

Tom wandered the woods that they were living in. He was at a loss of something better to do. They haven’t made plans yet. It's too soon to really start. Tom’s mind is normally a very well organized place, he has shelves full of bottles that he has shoved all the unpleasant memories of his life into, he locked those bottles down deep in the cellars that looked like they belonged to Wools, and he left them there never to see the sun again. That sort of sorting had always been best, always helped him to forget enough about the pain to become numb again, cold again, and ready to move on.

It's a lot harder this time, it's like that dark place has been opened. The wounds cut open again, and the outer walls and ceiling were smashed to expose it all to the sun. All his festering wounds are burning as he is remembering things, remembering things that he never did. Things that pushed the other him, his future, his remaining soul to become. 

Tom Riddle remembered making the Slytherin locket and the Diadem. He can see a broken down version of himself laughing, enjoying the carnage, inflicting pain upon others. Making them feel what he had, all of his sufferings, carving from them their lives, and leaving behind himself feeling lighter as he cut more and more of his emotions out of himself. 

Tom paused, leaning against one of the large pine trees. It’s shade doing little in the heat. He is burning, burning knowing what he became. What he is…He rubs at his head, feeling the sweat and the way his hair clings to his forehead. He feels alive, and yet he knows that he is only just it. 

He doesn’t know how alive he really is or ever really was...

Tom had always been running one place to another, never belonging truly. Not even at Hogwarts. He had once thought that place to be his home. But in reality, it was one of the only places that he had been able to stay stationary, somewhere that was, for the most part, safe, and not everyone hated his guts. It was a place that he could start to climb, start to become something. His talents were well recognized even if there were less than favorable things about him. 

His blood… He traces his vain on his wrist. 

In this time, this world, it doesn’t maybe matter as much. Maybe if he had been born in this time, he could have had a place. He could have risen higher than any because he could be more than it. He could belong with others, even if they were the ones that were oppressed. He would have fought with them against this Ministry. He would have been fighting with Harry. As it was Potter’s group that was fighting against the old Pure Blood families that Tom had always been belittled by. 

Tom Riddle shouldn’t have joined the very people that were holding him down, for things that he could not help. How pathetic of a creature was Voldemort that he sided with those that he should have proved were far littler than him, by being and owning the very thing that he was… A Halfblood, like Harry. 

He made his way back towards the campsite. Harry was shirtless near the water. He was holding one of the only towels. He was going to swim. Tom glanced back towards the water. It looked calm but he didn’t know if he would trust it. Harry looks up at him and Tom bites the inside of his lips. 

“Care for a swim?” Harry tilts his head.

“Not particularly.” Tom moves out from his hiding place. 

“Suit yourself, the water is going to be much cooler than this hot air, I don’t know how you are surviving in that.” The Gryffindor gestures at his pants and long socks. 

“Laugh if you want but it's practical.” Tom folded his arms, tightly against his chest. “You won’t be laughing at me when you are sunburned and have ticks all over you.” 

“Some sun would do you some good.” Harry shook his head, moving towards the water. “Besides the bug spray and pest repellent spells do a good enough job of keeping them away.”

Tom followed him purely because he will not have someone turn their back on him in a conversation. It is rude. “It doesn’t stop all of them. I bet you have a tick buried under that mop of hair.” 

“Then hopefully you can check it for me.” Harry shrugs, not at all bothered as Tom stares at him. “Unless that is somehow below you?”

“No, it might be a good idea to check each other.” Tom finds the sky suddenly very interesting. 

“Good then.” Harry nods and starts making his way into the water. “You know you don’t have to do more than wade and you would probably feel the difference?”

He can feel the difference, it feels like he is getting warmer. He nearly smacks himself. He can not have this whatever it was for Harry. At least he shouldn’t be so obvious about it. He is a Slytherin, he is supposed to be subtle. He had played on girls' affections before. He should know at least how to compose himself as not to look like one of them. This slight pull though, it has to be because Harry seems to understand him. He pushes, but never too far, keeping him on his toes. There is also the fact that they can share dreams, horrible dreams, and still comfort each other in them. Turn the worst memories around. 

He doesn’t know what this feeling is, but he can see Father Curtlin staring disapprovingly at him.

 _You’re going to hell Tom, you know that don’t you?_

Yes, he already knows that. He grabs at his shirt, lightly around the collar hooking his fingers into the cotton, tightening his hand into a fist, feeling his heart beat faster. Harry doesn’t notice, he is too busy enjoying the water. His glasses with his shirt and other clothes. Tom is amazed at how carefree he seems to be. 

‘How can I be like that?’ He takes a deep breath. Death could be creeping closer to them, and Harry is swimming as if nothing in the world is happening. He prefers this to the sad look the other had on his face, but he can not help but be envious. Envious that Harry seems okay with the idea of his own mortality. 

How could he not be afraid? He didn’t have a backup plan and Tom never wanted to go into anything without a plan to get out of it.

He takes off his shoes and socks. He climbs out onto the log, content to just dangle his feet in. He has no want to go deeper. Swimming was not exactly his strong suit. Harry makes it look effortless, floating on his back like that. 

“Sure you don’t want to swim?” Harry closes his eyes and disappears under the water for a few seconds. “It's refreshing.” Harry runs his hand through his hair. Tom isn’t sure how well he can see without his glasses, but he at least has his general direction figured out. 

“No thank you.” He repeats himself watching Harry dive again. He shivers thinking of the cave and his near-death experience there. How he had lost control of his magic and had he not, the two other children would have succeeded in their plan to drown him. 

The more that he watches though, the more tempting it is to get soaked and let that cool him down. He can feel the sun attempting to burn him under the sunscreen that he had put on earlier. He would be alright if he didn’t go deep… as long as he could touch. It wasn’t like Harry would be the type to hold him under. 

~/*\~

Harry could almost laugh at the caution that Tom seems to take with taking off his shirt and getting into the water. He wades out and then sits down in the shallow. Harry swims back and trudges to where he is sitting. 

“You didn’t go very far out.” He takes a seat, pulling up his knees, the water just passing his lap. 

“Keen observation.” Tom watches something in the distance, Harry can’t see that far but it is probably a bird. 

“You can’t swim can you?” Harry figures it out, why the other has not strayed close to the water and unnecessary caution that he was taking. It's so obvious he feels stupid for not realizing sooner. 

“No.” Tom surprises him by answering honestly. “I never learned.”

“I could teach you if you want.” Harry offers it was a skill that had gotten him out of a few tight places. He holds out his hand. “I’m not great at it, but I can promise that you won’t drown.” 

“That gives me such confidence.” Tom rolls his eyes, looking at his hand. 

‘Take it.’ Harry wills him and Tom tilts his head as if he is weighing his options. 

“Trust me.” Harry smiles. “I don’t tell lies, remember?” 

Tom takes his scarred hand. “Don’t start then, I just hope you are better at teaching me to swim than convincing me this is even remotely a good idea. Your skills in other areas leave much to be desired.” 

“Such as?” Harry pretends to be offended. 

“Everything that is not defensive or combat-related,” Tom smirks. 

“I am rather good at defense,” Harry says proudly. 

“And humble.” Tom shakes his head. 

“Of course. I’m Honest, Humble Harry.” He pulls him up. “That is absolutely my nickname. It goes well with Golden Boy, and The boy who lived.” 

“That is rather cruel,” Tom says tightening his hold on the other’s hand. “To boil you down to that one night.”

“I’m used to it.” Harry shrugs. 

“Do you have any respectable nicknames?” Tom tilts his head.

“None that I know of.” Harry chuckles. 

Tom hums as if thinking about something interesting or happy as they move to slightly deeper water. 

“Do you have a nickname that you would dub me?” Harry asks weary, he has a feeling that some sort of insult is coming. He is ready to call the other Tommy as that really is usually enough to set him off or would in this case be a good exchange. 

“There isn’t a better name for you than Harry,” Tom mutters. 

Harry feels his face heat. How many times had he just wished to be just Harry?

“Just Harry huh?” His voice tumbles out a lot more shaky than he would have liked it. 

“Just Harry,” Tom confirms, with a resolve that makes Harry's heart beat a little faster.


	11. Boys will be Boys.

Tom takes a couple of deep breaths. The water is only to his waist but he knows very well that it doesn’t take much to drown someone. In fact, it was possible to drown in only about an inch of it, should there be no way to get a person's head up. His mind gives him a rather nice image of that happening to Cloe, and it helps a little. Not with much but defiantly helps him keep a nervous smile on his face. He had almost drowned in knee deepwater. Of course, that was because he was being held under, by much larger hands and he had been maybe 8 at the time. His grip tightened on Harry’s hand. He can feel it shake slightly as the damage never went completely away. Voldemort had managed to fuck up his messed up life even more. 

“It's okay,” Harry says softly like he is talking to a child. Tom doesn’t like that type of voice directed at him. It makes him feel small, and it's degrading. All his life people have always talked down to him, perhaps not when he started creating Horcruxes, showing how vicious he could be to get those he hated to leave him alone. Fear was much better than the alternative. He was if everything was wrong and he wasn't just fragments and from the past, to become a great Dark Lord, such a ‘great’ and 'powerful' person, regardless of how twisted they became, shouldn’t be scared of something as simple as water. 

“This was a terrible idea.” He mutters to himself. Watching as the water rippled around his legs, feeling the muck sinking around his feet. It was a rather gross feeling. 

“The first thing I did when I learned what to hold my breath, and blow bubbles in the water. Harry continued on as if he had not heard Tom’s comment. “I started with a flotation device jumping into the water, after that.” 

“I am not putting my head under.” Tom immediately disregards the idea. Disliking the way that Harry looks at him with that mixed look. Not pity, not quite fond, as if he is placing him, deciding if he cares or not. 

“I assume that you know how to hold your breath and that sort of thing.” Harry disregards the idea of putting him under. “The idea is that we're in water that is not above your head, and you can stand up if you need to, but forces you to try and keep upright.” 

Harry lets go of his hand and moves out only a little bit. This should be deep enough. I can just touch which means that it won’t go over your head. Try to mimic my motions from earlier the best you can and tag my hand.” He holds up the scared one that Umbitch had caused.

Tom feels ridiculous, he can feel the sand giving way under his feet to deeper water. He takes a deep breath and walks a little forward. More like inches, yes this is ridiculous. 

“Don’t walk over.” Harry shakes his head. “That would defeat the purpose, only walk along the bottom or hop from it, if you need to.” 

Tom grits his teeth, did he really need this skill. It was not like he ever really needed to swim. When was he going to use this skill, other than while they are stationed here? He can avoid water his whole life, or use magic never to sink. Yet he takes another step forward.

_The water was colder deeper out, and it was dark water. Dark like the cave. There are two hands shoving him, into the water, the rocks scrap his knees as he tries to get up. They push him back down. He flails and they keep him under, till he feels like the corners of his vision are darkening, feels his lungs burning. His magic reacts, black and powerful it sends them flying. He gets his retribution, they never touched him again. They never were able to utter another word. They deserved what had happened to them. Tom had helped them get down there with him. He had only meant to scare them a little for being so mean to him on the bus. They had been the ones that tried to kill him. It was their fault._

Harry swims back to him. “Tom?”

He blinks remembering that he is 50 years in the future now. Even if he didn’t time travel those people are long dead. Most people that were from his time would be. He tightens his fist. Even disgusting Pastor Curtain and Mrs. Cloe. They are all gone, maybe Tom had even killed them as he had always thought he would Billy. He is with Harry though, in the now, and Harry despite being foolish, and perhaps at times rude and annoying is not at all malicious. He wouldn’t trick him out here to hurt him, nor would he allow for him to drown.

Then why is he scared… there is no reason to be. 

_Worthless_ Voldemorts voice whispers. 

“We don’t have to do this if you're scared, you know?” Harry looks up at him, because yes he is smaller. How can Tom forget that fact? The chosen one is smaller and braver than him. It's just so aggravating. And yet his touch is soft and warm and makes him feel as if he can belong, if only it is the two of them. 

“And what? Avoid water all my life.” Tom laughs nervously. “No learning now is better than never learning right? Besides you said you would teach me, you're not backing out of it now are you?”

Harry searches his eyes and his face. “If you're sure.” 

‘Don't look at me that way.’ Tom wants to scream at him. He was okay with Dumbledore and others looking at him like that but not Harry. Harry has no right. They are supposed to be equals, Voldemort marked him to be that. He has that odd sensation again, the urge to prove that to the other. 

“Just get back out there, and I’ll attempt to reach you.” Tom slides the hand off his arm. He is determined and he has always been able to succeed when he has felt the pressure in order to do so. 

~/*\~

Harry retakes his place, watching Tom move. He really was scared. Harry wonders if he had a near-drowning experience in a lake like this one, or if as a child it had been in a bathtub that caused this sort of violent dislike for water. Tom looked about as comfortable as a snake in a hen house or a Slyterhin around a group of huggy Hufflepuffs. Tom's face is scrunched up and his hands at his sides are shaking something awful, he was going to poke holes in his plans, by how hard he is tightening them. He is only a year younger if that and Harry can’t help but find him emotionally as stunted as he is. Harry had not had good options as a child to socialize, and it showed... He sometimes lost his temper at the worst of times, saying things that he couldn't take back. But looking back at his outbursts he still thinks that some of them were justified.

Tom can try and act bravely. He could put on that cruel face, but Harry knew. He knows it better than perhaps most. The signs of someone pushing themselves for acceptance or the greater good. Harry doesn’t know when he had become someone that Tom wanted to impress but he can feel slightly honored by it…. He just wished that Tom wouldn’t push himself needlessly if he really was treating this like a life or death scenario.

Still, Harry would give him credit for wanting to try, and being determined enough to wade out to his upper chest. It could not have been easy to ignore instincts that told him that water was not a good place to be. 

Tom does eventually attempts to swim to him. It's a lot of flailing limbs but he does make the few feet out to him. He grips hard onto Harry and it's almost enough to push him under. His hands tightly gripping onto his forearms. Just balancing out of the water. Harry even with the manhandling smiles. 

“You made it.” 

Tom nodes. Not letting go of him, fingernails digging a bit into his flesh in a move that is anything but comfortable. 

“Tom, stand up you are fine,” Harry says gently prying himself free. “Now that I can see what I’m working with I can try and help you with your form.” 

Tom doesn’t seem to like the fact that he has bruised Harry’s arm even if he doesn’t say sorry for his action he takes a bit more care clinging to him when he makes it the distance. It's easier after that. Tom doing it once seems to help him convince himself that he can do it, again and again, no matter how far Harry makes the distance between them. Harry does have conscience enough never to make the distance something that will cause exhaustion, nor over the head. He doesn't want to break the fragile trust that they have developed. He just might not live to tell the tale.

They break for food sitting on the small logs that are around their campfire. Tom shivers a little, but he is smiling to himself. He has every right to be smug. He had made great progress and probably would if they stayed here to be able to swim in no time. Harry can even feel a little joy at the fact he has caused the other to be in such a good mood. It was small things after all that built friendships, having Tom as an ally was a lot better than the alternative. Harry trusted him. Trusted him after he had the opportunity to leave, wand in hand, or turn him over to Voldemort. It’s strange to think that they did not know each other that well and had built up trust so easily in one another. Harry could further trust Tom purely because of what they were. He could read the other if he was close enough, feel little parts of the other's emotions bleed into his. Now that he is looking for ways to. It's almost perfect clarity when he is touching the other. Tom has been near calming to be around when he wasn’t scared of the water it seemed. The nervousness the other felt when even Harry was near it was enough to show him that there was indeed a lot of progress but still a long way to go. Harry hadn’t even dared to try and ask Tom to go underwater or lie on his back after the other had gone under for a couple of seconds and panicked. He unconsciously rubs at his arm. And suddenly feels like someone is burning him under their stare. He raises his eyes, Tom is still looking at him intensely as he stirs his noodles. Harry stops rubbing his arm. 

“You know I’m fine right?” Harry breaks the silence. “The potions healed up the small cuts days ago, and the small scratches you gave me are nothing compared to Hermione’s cat.” They still stung something awful when he had gotten them. 

Tom’s face reddens, though it is a little hard to tell because he has rosier cheeks thanks to the sun. “There was nothing small about the cuts you received the night we fled Grimmauld Place. You're just lucky they were mild hexes and not something enchanted not to heal.” 

“Like I said not a big deal, I’m all healed.” Harry brushes the concern away, and it is apparently the wrong thing to do. Just like his friends that only sometimes bought it, Tom calls bullshit without missing a beat.

“Yes, it is.” Tom battled him with his eyes and tone. “You could have bled out, you almost did. You're lucky that there were potions in the main bathroom that could help you. And that I know basic medical spells.” 

Harry really is grateful for that night, he is grateful that he knows the truth no matter how painful that it is. He almost wishes Dumbledore was still alive, just so that he could confront him. Demand to know why he did all that he had. He might not have been alive if he had tried to save Tonks or Molly. 

Harry tilts his head pushing the bad feelings down. “Careful you almost sound like you care about me.” 

His small smile falters by how dark and cold Tom's eyes become. “Don’t make it sound like I can’t care for people. I am not heartless, I just choose not to extend my hand to get it chopped off. Besides in your case, someone has to, you're incapable of caring about yourself. You're self-destructive or something, putting yourself into danger for no good reason. Buying into the chosen one narrative to the point that you have thrown yourself into danger every year that you have attended school, probably even before then. ” 

The barb almost makes him push back it's just the right amount of truth to cut deep. It seems that the other has things that he needs to say. Harry waits for the other to start breathing again, decently normal from his little outburst. Maybe there had been lasting lung damage, as well as damaged dexterity, he can see how Tom's fingers twitch every so often. Just like Voldemort Tom is prone to lashing out. He doesn’t know if it's a good thing that Tom has dropped his nice boy act around him, or if he should be scared of the dark magic that leaks from him. 

“Tom, that isn’t what I meant.” Harry rubs at his scar, feeling a slight prick of pain there. “It’s just you don’t really show care for anyone, not that I have seen in any of the memories nor at the house.” 

“Of course not. I'm incapable of it.” Tom hisses, “ just because I don’t show it like Granger or Ron. Do you think that they would stand by you if they knew what you were?”

It almost sounds like he is jealous, but that can't be right... there isn't any reason for Tom to envy his friends. 

“That’s really uncalled for, to try and make me doubt them. I'm already questioning everything.” Harry struggles to wrestle his own temper. Knowing that picking a fight is what Tom wants, he is so self-destructive that he won’t let anything that possibly would be a good stand between them. He is waiting for it to go wrong or something. Or he is trying still to convince Harry he is unredeemable. Or it's something else because Harry doesn't claim to understand how the other ticks. “You don’t get to say something like that.” 

Tom opens his mouth and Harry gets up, stalks over, and makes sure that he is in the other's personal space as he explains things in a way that the other can understand. “Look I was raised differently from you. It’s obvious, you are Slytherin through and through, you understand self-preservation better than most that comes with only helping those you see of use one way or another to you. I can understand it to an extent that the hat considered Slytherin for me after all. But I don’t value my life more than anyone else's.”

“You should.” Tom disagrees. “You're supposed to destroy him because he started his own self-fulfilling prophecy, but that doesn’t mean you have to or should. They will destroy you with expectations. You owe them nothing if they wanted to set you up to die for them, just because they didn’t want to.”

“And you're saying that you won’t, destroy me with your expectations of me.” Harry raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t expect anything from you.” Tom doesn’t look away. “I would be fine to never come back to this bloody country, just leave, never look back. He will be destroyed eventually regardless. People always will stand up for what’s right and even with his little assurances, he is not indestructible. Let others do it.” 

He is scared, despite his desires to put an end to the one that he becomes, Harry knows that he is scared. Harry could rub salt into the wound that Tom has his own expectations. He wants Harry to run with him for whatever reason. Perhaps it's because Harry is the first to really reach a hand out to him, that was not dripping in poison and wanting the other to pay him back for it. Harry doesn’t want Tom to be indebted to him. No, he almost wishes that he could free the other, free him from whatever dark path downed him, and turned him into a monster. God, they are children really, they didn’t deserve what had happened to them. They did not have anyone to turn to, and yet there are pressures in all directions. The damned if they do and damned if they don’t situation. 

Tom is a murder, he has done horrible things, and Harry will not justify or excuse them. He could perhaps forgive him, though. Help him mend that way. Understand that those evil acts can't repeat themselves, have remorse for them. Tom’s memories drip with pain, sadness, doubt, and self hate that is so bitter and deep that it coils and poisons everything. The fact that he can relate, and is trying to scare Harry away from people that could both be his support system or end, is very telling. Yes, there is more than pity because he is not distancing himself from this emotion. He sits down next to someone that is younger than him, wise in different ways of the world. He dares to touch the other, even if it could hurt, as there is magic surging. Tom lets him take his hand, lets his fingers be wrapped around, he is charged, warm, vibrant. 

“I was raised as we have both put it for the slaughter, everything in my whole life has pointed to that my life doesn’t matter. I always felt that others were more important than me because they had to be wrong, I couldn’t be a great wizard. I couldn’t be the chosen one, I was just Harry. I had average grades because there was no point to apply myself, I was unloved, a freak that lived in the cupboard under the stairs. How possibly could I matter? When I felt care for the first time, I thought that it had to be a mistake that soon they would learn the truth and hate me. My whole life I told myself if I could give back just a grain of how wonderful it felt when I was hugged for the first time by a friend, or they made me laugh, smile, or feel accepted. Then my life would finally have meaning. Perhaps that is a bad way to view myself, my worth, thinking that it depends on others' thoughts and values of me. But even now with how they could treat me, how things could change. I still love them. I still want to protect them. I will find a way so that I can live my life finally without fear and so can they.” 

“Even if they would stand by and let you die? Even if they would abandon you the second that you became too much to handle?” Tom leans into him slightly so that their arms are touching as he faces him. His eyes wild and dark. He doesn't understand. “Do you not think that asking you to sacrifice for them when they would not do that for you is asking too much?” 

“They don’t have to ask.” Harry looks at the setting sun. He likes the golden color, the reds mixing in the silver-blue. “I care for my remaining family and friends that much.” 

“I hate you,” Tom says and Harry can almost believe him that it is true. “You're sickeningly noble.”

“And self-righteous.” Harry tilts his head. Tom looks down at him a second, blinking as if placing it as humor.

“No.” Tom shakes his head. “You’re not even trying to prove moral superiority, you wholeheartedly believe that everyone matters and that if there is something that you can do that you should do so. It makes you the most selfless person I know and it disgusts me.”

“Perhaps I can teach you to care for others more, and you can teach me to be selfish.” Harry offers. 

Tom draws away from him. “This conversation has become too nauseating for me, but very well. I will teach you to look out for your own self-interests, and you will teach me more about this glorious thing called faith in humanity.”

“Not all humanity, they are damned, just being open to empathizing with others.” Harry lets the other retreat to his radio.

~/*\~

Night comes and Tom dims the candlelight in the tent. He is making progress with the Radio he thinks, he heard a brief crackle of news about owls before it went back to playing some sort of ball game. Harry sits too close to him, his hair is even puffer after drying in the sun, the heat curling it. 

“What?” Tom just wants to go to bed. His limbs are stiff, he hasn’t gotten this level of exercise in a long time. He hates the idea that he is both physically weaker and magically weaker from his time off in Grimmauld Place. 

“You said that you would check my hair for ticks, I can check yours after.” Harry yawns his t-shirt drapes off his shoulder with the movement he makes to try and stifle it. 

Tom quickly turns his head to the side, pretending to be looking through the bag for a brush. Harry had no idea what he was doing to him. It was completely unfair. His kindness and casualness of touching him, he really starting to want it. He almost likes this closeness. Humans are wired for contact. Tom knows this, and yet no one has ever cared enough to hold his hand, put a hand on his shoulder, or hug him. Salizar bless him, the touch that he is used to is negative, handshakes to make deals that were as good as selling his soul, and to smack him. He would say that his ‘friends’ touches were always unwelcome, they always felt crass like a slap on the back that could take the wind out of him. He had always been drawn to wanting to connect, and still, keep people at an arm's length away. It's a dangerous balance, that he has always been frustrated with because he is not like other people. He is wired differently. Cloe was right about one thing if nothing else. 

Harry’s almost too gentle to him, he isn’t like a boy or at least any that he has ever known. Harry is thin, bony, and his figure is not exactly the definition of Masculinity. He could feel muscle sure when they were practicing swimming, but it doesn't show. He also had those green eyes. Green like the lushest of springs, lively, vibrant, brighter than northern lights, and the killing curse. They literally killed his will to fight and perhaps he has already lost if he can think like this. Think Harry was pretty. Not in the conventual sense, not really, the wild hair, scars, and jagged curse scar are not really beautiful. But they seem to suit him. He wouldn't have been Harry without them like Tom wouldn't be who he was without the one he had now across his cheek like a wake-up call. 

‘Stop being obvious, you're not a girl.’ He told himself. 'you can't crush on him.' It would end horribly, Harry would never feel the same way. His hands gripping the brush clumsily. He attempts to fix his hold, subtly. Force the grace that Purebloods of his house tried to bestow, into his posture and the mask onto his face. 

“Turn around before I regret this.” He makes his voice come out as cold as he can. He shoves at Harry a little so that he is further onto the mattress and more towards the middle. 

Harry just laughs, “okay, okay.” 

Tom takes a deep breath, and runs the comb through, carefully looking for any signs of ticks, Harry’s hair is thick, soft, and wild. He has some tangles and Tom carefully teases them out. Feeling as Harry relaxes into him, practically on his lap and he is glad that the other can’t see his face because he is sure that it’s burning. He hasn’t ever done this sort of thing before. It feels stupid, ridiculous, and yet calming. So calming. Harry trusts him enough to be this close. He is closer than anyone had ever willingly been to him, and closer than anyone Tom has ever allowed into his space. 

“It feels nice.” Harry attempts to look back at him. “Thanks.” 

“Don’t move you, idiot, you’ll make me lose my place, your hair is unrefined as your manors.” Tom snips at him.

“My aunt hated it, she used to take us for hair cuts and mine would grow back within an hour. Once she cut it all off besides my bangs to hide my scar.” Harry has his eyes closed, he is smiling slightly. “My hair grew back as she was cutting it. I didn’t know I was a wizard then, but I was so glad that I wouldn’t be going to school like that.” 

“If you grew it longer, you might be able to tame it.” Tom pauses, fingers parting the mess of layers. “It would also be easier to hide your scar.” He likes the scar though, its a mark on a perfect face. It is what connects them. He brushes his fingers against it pretending to fix the bangs.

“It would be a lot of work.” Harry hums. 

“You can tie it up.” Tom insists. “It will help in making you less recognizable, probably help with your face shape. Make you look better.” There was also the fact there would be more to play with, but he won't say that out loud. 

“I can try it if you help me with it.” Harry sighs. “I don’t know how to maintain longer hair.” 

Tom feels the strands, petting them lightly. “And you think that I do?”

“Purebloods wear their hair longer, I thought you might know a few tricks.” Harry yawns again, slumping against him.

“Don’t fall asleep on me.” It comes out with less bite than he wants it to. “I didn’t take notes on beauty tips.”

“Could have fooled me.” Harry chuckles, and Tom rubs at his face with his one hand. He couldn’t just say things like that. His movement pulls the other’s hair. “Hey ow, I’m sorry.” Harry wiggled away. 

“There was a knot.” Tom clears his throat.

“Sure there was.” Harry rubs at his head. 

“No, there really was.” Tom lies and makes himself sound as sincere as possible. “Let me fix it before I pass the brush off to you.”

Harry shakes his head but turns around again, and Tom takes longer than he has to making it seem like he is teasing out a knot. He regrets finishing as fast as he had now. Because he likes this, even if it was something that he normally never would have considered doing. 

“Here give me the brush.” Harry pats the mattress and Tom reluctantly sits in front of him. 

He expects Harry to be as untrained as he was with brushing hair, but he has a soft touch. It feels so nice, why did it feel so nice to have such a simple action done to him. Its like a message on his skull. He doesn't understand why such a small thing is enough to make his chest tighten and his heart slow. He un-tenses. Girls brushed each other's hair at the orphanage all the time and he had never understood the idea of it till now. It had seemed childish, stupid, and a bonding activity that was done solely to have someone serve them for once, but it was so nice. He envies now all the little girls at Wools that got the caregiver's attention. All they had to do was ask for their hair to be braided or put up and they could feel this. They could have this positive touch.

It hurts and heals at the same time. Hurts because he has not felt this calm, this safe, or cared for in so long. If ever… It sent a weird tingle down his spine, a light nice feeling. He closed his eyes and wondered if mothers did this to their children long after they were old enough to do it themselves or if it was acceptable to feel this way. 

Was it normal in this time to have two boys comb each other's hair? or was this something special.

Was it okay in this time or acceptable even, to feel something for another that was the same sex? He knew many people that were beaten for even being suspected in the Muggle world. Tonks had asked him about Abraxas, but he hadn’t really had an answer for her about the political climate. Experimenting was fine if someone had money to make it go away, but most of the time it just hurt whoever had taken part in it. Submissive behavior of any sort was frowned upon by most Slyterhins unless it was bowing to the pureblood mentality, falling in line by blood placement. 

The kind touch ends as soon as it starts, at least it feels that way. It leaves him with a chill. He wants to ask Harry to keep going through it to be a hundred percent sure there is nothing there. But he can't, he doesn't trust his voice.

“No ticks,” Harry says putting the brush down. “We should count ourselves lucky that spells seem to keep them and leeches at bay.” 

“Thank you.” Tom means it, he doesn’t think that Harry will understand how nice that was for him. Maybe he was the one that should grow his hair out, then Harry could help him with it. He shook his head at the thought, clearing it. 

Harry smiles at him, squinting as he has taken off his glasses already. “Sure, I used to help Luna with hers, she would sorta plop down and tell me to get the nargles out.” 

“Nargles?” Tom tries to disguise the fact he is jealous of a girl that he has never met, getting to have Harry do such a nice thing for her. 

“A nargle is an adorable yet sometimes mischievous creature in the appearance of something that looks like a bushbaby.” Harry seems to quote an unknown textbook. “Or at least they are according to Luna and they infest mistletoe apparently and are not able to be seen by most people as they are too small.”

“That is ridiculous.” Tom shakes his head.

“Of course, but Luna even if the things she did were a bit strange usually had a purpose or reason that she did them. I chose to believe her about the Nargles because she believed me that I could see Thestrals.”

“Thesrals exist, though.” Tom doesn’t hesitate to point out. “I know because I saw them pulling the Hogwarts Carriages.” 

“Not the point Tom.” Harry shakes his head. “The point is that just because some can’t see it doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Belief is a fun thing to have even if it’s in silly things.”

Tom blinks as Harry adjusts himself into his sleeping bag and wandlessly gets the lights. He slowly slips down and into his. He stares a long time at the ceiling of the tent, long after Harry has gone to sleep. He snores but that isn’t what was keeping him up. It's that strange feeling in his chest, that lightness, that spark of warmth that will not leave him. He had to be foolish to think that anything between them would ever be possible. The best he could hope for was friendship, and even then Harry could give Tom up just as easily as the people before him. Harry could be close to him now because there wasn’t anyone there to discourage it. He would sooner or later realize how nice he was being, how close he was getting to a killer. The very person that gave a few years would have killed his parents leaving him to his abusive relatives. Then he would turn away or there would be pressure, just like those in Slytherin house. 

_Sorry Tom, you know how Purebloods are._

He didn't need to have that heartache. The rejection was to be expected and it would come, just as it came from his own flesh and blood. If Tom's family didn't want him and he had done nothing to them, how could Harry? How could Harry ever care for someone like him? 

'He's just kind.' Tom huffs to himself. 'He is just kind, and there isn't anything special about me.'

That want to be special, someone that was diffrent for the right reasons, is what started him on the way to hell. He wanted to prove himself, and he had proved all the people at Wools correct. Harry didn't even know about all the things Tom had done, how many unforgivables he had used, how many animals he had hurt trying to learn how to read memories, and practice spells. He would have done anything to get an edge. 

He turns over so that he can't look at Harry and his peaceful face. He sighed deeply shutting his eyes, willing his breathing to slow. His magic is making the dim fire in the far off lamp flicker. It doesn’t work and he opens them again.

He was a Devil, not yet the Demon that Voldemort was. Cloe knew it. She had put him up on the 3rd floor in his own room away from the other children when he started to have accidents happen around him and little fits. She wanted to have him looked at, because of his detachment to people, and other emotions. Tom can't help that he doesn't always feel things as strongly as others do, yes anger is an easy one, he can understand sadness, regret. Sometimes he can if he really tries sympathize or feel pity for someone he can. But it's numb most of the time. He is drifting, trying to find something meaningful. When he was 11 it was Magic. Magic had consumed him, he wanted to know everything there was, dark, light, it had not mattered. It was something bigger than him. Something to make him special. 

He hasn't had reason to try and change anything, his views, his feelings, his trajectory. Dumbledore asking him what he would do if he couldn't go back, flashes in his head. And there is a small answer, now. Belong... 

Tom tries to close his eyes, tries to forget the warmth he is feeling, will it away, it's not going to last. It never lasts. Things like this never do for him. But for once he hopes that it does. Even if it hurts him in the end, perhaps it would be nice to feel warm for a little while... feel something... anything positive. 

_You’re going to hell Tom._

He can hear Paster Curtain's voice again in his head. He was already a sinner though. If he was going to hell, he might as well go for a good reason, right? 

The thought of Harry’s smile makes him tighten his hold on his sleeping bag, so much that the zipper is digging into his palm. His hand hurts from the pressure. He can almost convince himself that it is a good thing, that he doesn't care how others would view it. If he really tries he can even come up with reasons that they could be good for each other. He can selfishly want to hold on. 

_“Belief is a fun thing to have even if it’s in silly things.”_

Reality can come in the morning, for now, he is going to dream and pretend that everything will work itself out. He nearly laughs, at how his eyes itch with that familiar feeling, that he will not gift them the pleasure of relieving. He has shown enough weakness to last a lifetime. But It's fun to believe and entertain the thought even for a moment that anyone could ever love him, that he could ever allow himself to care for someone else, that his small taste of happiness would last, and Voldemort would not kill the both of them in their sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Godric blesses, my heart was too weak to write this. I needed breaks. Thank you all for reading this work, never thought that it would get this long.


	12. The Heart wants what the Heart wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have returned ヾ(＠＾▽＾＠)ﾉ

_He stands in front of a castle that is burning, there is a phoenix flying melting trinkets and rising higher and higher into the sky. Red bleeds, colors that are familiar and warm. It devours everything in its shower of flame and hot embers. Leaving nothing but a scorched mess, and a wasteland. A figure stands there with a wand in his hand. Black robes billowing like smoke. There is a loud abrupt cry and the figure turns..._

He wakes with a soft ache in his head and the loud sound is of a cheer. It startles him but Tom is grinning like a madman in front of the small radio that is giving the latest report from the Ministry of Magic. Harry grins despite himself at the pure joy on the others' face. It warms part of his heart to see such a usually stoic face, give such a display of emotion freely. 

“You got it working I see.” He sits up and makes his way over, he puts his hand on the others shoulder as he sits down. Tom moves a little way from his hold. Harry questions it momentarily and tries not to feel anything by the action. “Did you even sleep?” He asks, keeping his smile on his face though it's a little more forced. 

“Couldn’t sleep.” Tom shrugs, turning the radio down, giving that his full attention. His face has gone back to a near unreadable mask. “I can always nap later.” 

“I suppose but if you nap in the afternoon you’ll miss the heat of the day and when the water is cooler.” Harry does want to continue their lessons. He knows Tom can do it, that he can overcome his fear, and should there ever be a time he needs to swim he will not have to worry about drowning. 

“I won’t miss learning to swim.” Tom scuffed. “I’m not letting you wiggle your way out of helping me learn a vital skill.” 

Tom is not meeting his eyes though, he is looking elsewhere. Harry feels a slight brush of cold in their bond. They seemed close yesterday, why did the other feel so distant now all of a sudden? He was ridged next to him like he was trying to act in the presence of the Order members or Dumbledore. It was not something that Tom had done in his presence before. 

“Right well I will expect you around noon then.” Harry gets up and stretches, giving the other space. Tom seems to visibly relax, no longer as high strung. 

Tom avoids him the rest of the morning well into the afternoon. He is avoiding touch of any sort and keeping the distance between them at least a meter. At first, it is not that noticeable, but it starts to become apparent when they get into the water. Tom does take the swimming lesson but does not cling like the day before, becoming more bold and independent all on his own if only to avoid them being near each other. 

A few days carry on like this. The distance between them growing, growing like a cavern has opened under their feet. Harry isn’t sure where the ground has gone that they have gained or how the abyss has formed. He feels it all going to waste, all the trust he thought that they had developed seems to have eroded as Tom struggles away from all touch and close contact. Tom doesn’t sleep as closely or at ease. The connection to dreams is strung thin. 

Nightmares persist, as he surrcombs to the guilt that he has pushed back by focusing on other things. The war outside their bubble, Voldemort, and his mortality and circumstances playing on an endless loop. He doesn’t know what to do or think. Tom doesn’t offer any solutions and every day brings a new list of names, another string of deaths. It twists something in Harry's chest. It's aggravating in a way that he doesn’t know how to explain. Hurts in a new way and Harry is so very used to pain, the sting of rejection has loomed over him his whole life. He doesn’t know if Tom can sense the turmoil in his soul. He doesn’t even bother to hide it. 

The radio brings more bad news the next day and the next. The war seems lost, people have lost hope. The Ministry seized more and more people. Azkaban was full of well-meaning people, and those that would not survive the dementors. Lucious was in his element passing more and more degrees. The torture of rebels was public, werewolves bit and tore up children, dark creatures were returning to places they never should have had influence. Harry feels small. So very small. He feels alone, and he feels like he has caused this. More so than he has ever felt at the Dursleys. He has never felt so hopeless, so useless. His inability to fight Voldemort, and allowing for Dumbledore no matter how much he should hate him, die. He has let the flame of resistance fade out. And the one person that could understand that, could feel as trapped as him is avoiding him. 

~/*\~

_A small boy sits curled up on a cot that is far too small for him. There are a few blankets under him and they are stained, ripped, and would have been better served as rags. He clutches a pillow, that's leaking feathers. His head hurts from the grip strength that his uncle had on his hair. He buries his head in his hands. Propping it all against the pillow and stifles a sniffle, because the last thing he needs is to be told to stop crying. He thought that school would be better, that he could make friends, but instead he had a mean teacher that told Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia about the school paper he had written._

_It's not his fault, he wrote exactly what they told him. They told him that his parents were dead and he had no family. They didn’t want to be considered as such. So he had written that he didn’t have a family. The school had called home, concerned, and anything that caused problems for the Dursleys disrupted their perfect little lives. Harry Paid the price for._

_It never mattered what he did. Nothing was good enough. He bit his bottom lip, hard. His glasses are hard against his palms as he wills the silent tears not to fall. He huffs in breath after breath and coughs from the dust and grime of his prison. He is so alone, so unwanted. All he wants is for someone, anyone, to accept him._

_He bows his head, just like he was taught in that place that they only go when Aunt Marge was visiting and Vernon needed to look better. He doesn’t know if he believes in any being in the sky. He doesn’t really know if there are such a thing as wishes._

_He just wants one person…_

_To talk to._

_Who won't hurt him._

_Who won't break him._

_Who wouldn’t knock the wind out of him and just stand there and laugh._

_To look at him like he is a person._

_To trust._

_To love him._

_It's not an easy want. There doesn’t seem to be anyone that will ever exist that is kind to him. But he is willing to put effort in. He is willing to change, contort himself, bend whatever way he can if it means just for a second he can feel some sort of happiness brought on by another person. He wants to matter, he wants so desperately to feel like he belongs._

~/*\~

_Tom finds himself in a very tight and enclosed place, it's dark, and he is reminded of the attic though this ceiling is lower. He can hear the sniffling of a child. He finds himself looking at a much younger Harry. He can feel the despair creeping in on all angles, the sadness is near drowning. It practically throws him backward._

_“Harry.” He hisses at him. His head feels like it's under a vice. The boy looks at him and the room tilts and becomes only slightly lighter. Harry at least looks his age now. The room feels smaller._

_“Tom.” He greets softly. He rubs at his eyes as if that would help to hide the feelings that he has been freely showing._

_“What is this place?” He decides to ask purely because it may distract the other. “It reminds me of Wool’s attic.”_

_“This.” Harry gestures, “was my bedroom. My first 11 years of life can be summed up by this place.”_

_Tom very uneasily sits next to Harry. “Your relatives did this?” He has the sudden urge to murder them like he had to his own relatives. It would probably give Harry closure that they never could hurt him or anyone else again. He thinks better of it, by just how distraught Harry is. He will bring up the idea later perhaps._

_Harry nods and then turns away from him. They sit there in silence. Tom watches the spiders “Recently, I found out that this was all part of my training to become a hero. Dumbledore needed to have a person that came from humble beginnings, that did not value himself. He wanted me to be abused...It makes me wonder what else he planned, how much is a lie. I just keep thinking about it.” The remnants of tears squeeze out behind the glasses._

_Tom had thought that Harry had come to terms with this. He should have known that just like him Harry was good at bottling these things up to the point where it could seem like they were fine on the outside. Especially because he seemed so fine with helping the other day. So fine with fighting a war to keep those he cared for safe._

_Tom doesn’t know what to say to that so he just sits closer, Harry makes no move to come out of the protective hunch that he has around himself. “My biggest flaw, my weakness, it has been taught to me so long and ingrained in me since I was small. I never would have thought that it was a flaw till I met you. You just…you just seem like you can overcome it.” Harry sighs. “I wish I did not care about anyone. The more that you care the more you have to lose._

_“Yes.” Tom agrees. “You do.”_

_I'm willing to burn my skin and jump into a river to make my friends and those that I consider family happy.” He coughs and rubs at his eyes. “If I could, I would take all their pain and hurt and take it upon myself. I am willing to suffer if it means people aren't hurting anymore. I am willing to break my back, poke out my eyes, cut off my fingers, and drink poison if it means everyone is happy. Even if it's pure hell, I'll do it. Even if I shut down, I'll do it. Even if I can't breathe, I'll do it. No matter the cost, if whatever god is up there gave me the chance, I'd take it with no second thoughts. And I hate it. I hate because of him and Voldemort that I can’t… I can’t…”_

_“Can't?” Tom prompts._

_“Can’t love myself.” Harry says quietly. “I know that I told you I care for them. I know that I said it was an important quality. I just it’s so fucked up Tom. I keep thinking what if some of them knew. What if they were okay with it? What if the friends I made were set there up by him? Like the Weasleys, they did show me the way to the platform and take me in only sometimes knowing how the Dursleys were._

_“It's possible Dumbledore did orchestrate things like that.” Tom scowls. “It would not be the first time. That would take a lot of planning.” The idea sickens him honestly. He had been thinking perhaps far too much about himself, and the fact that he is probably a few Horcruxes combined into some semblance of a person. His short existence was a lie. Harry’s was 17 years of puppeteering in the making. He can’t even comprehend what that must be like. To know that the people that he would sacrifice himself for, would never do the same, or were convinced somehow to do so by an old man that peddled the prophecy as if it was the only solution._

_“ I just want to be normal. I just want to get rid of this horrible guilt I carry, but I don’t know how.” Harry curls his fingers into his shirt and he grabs his chest as if he can feel nothing but anxiety seeping in.. “It was almost encouraged to the point where I'm willing to bend backward for others. Where even if there is nothing I can do I still blame myself. Hate myself and my circumstances. And then I feel selfish for thinking that I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to fight him anymore. I hate him, but...”_

_“You are foolish too. You’re what 17?” Tom snaps and then lets his head rest against the stairs. Getting angry is not going to help anything. Even though he hates feeling what Harry is, hates thinking the other sees himself as anything but kind. He doesn’t deserve this. He has to explain this carefully. “I have faced something similar. They expected us, orphans, to go overseas, and kill. They expected us to ration what little we had and carry blind loyalty to a country that never cared about us. I can not say the reason for bombs, nor murders, but no one person is to blame. War takes the lives of many to start up and to carry on. Nothing that has happened to you has been your fault.”_

_“He killed my parents to get to me, he killed McGonagall, Flitwick, Ginny, Neville, Dobby, Percy, Luna, Mr. Lovegood, Krum, Cedric, and many more. Anyone that has ever stood up for me or protected me._

_“It's pretty selfish to think that they died for you, Harry. I get that you're the chosen one but perhaps you have thought of this the wrong way. The others don’t seem like the types that would allow for him to run rampant.” Tom closes his eyes. “They also are the ones that had power in the ministry to actually put blocks in place to slow his rise to power. We both knew that Dumbledore could have stopped him long before. We can still run. Find a better way.”_

_Tom does his best not to sound eager. He wants to leave Europe so badly. Having Harry at his side would only be a benefit. He had tried to stay away, but he had missed it. He had missed simple touches. He had missed Harry smiling at him, and words that felt like music to his soul. Comforting and warm._

_“Would you even want to go with me?” Harry loses his hold on himself. It takes all that he is not to shake Harry. How can he not see it, see how he affects him. “You have been avoiding me.”_

_He is silent, but he moves his hand and curls it around Harry’s taking that warmth for his own. He can’t say it out loud. He knows how it will look. He is the person that causes Harry unmeasurable pain. A version of Voldemort, a distorted version perhaps of what a shadow was to a man or the echo of a shout in a cave, but he is still Tom Riddle. He is still partly the monster that killed and ripped at the wizarding world. He can’t even vocalize what he feels anyway. It's painful and scary. To tell Harry would be to open himself up to rejection and pain unlike most he had known… because he likes Harry. He cares what the other thinks of him. He has foolishly spiraled down this path of no return quickly. Faster than any decision that he has ever made in his life._

_Yet it might eat him alive if he doesn’t tell the other. Perhaps it would be even worse pain to know that it was possible and to never have done or said anything. He takes in a deep breath. “I would go with you near anywhere.”_

_Harry laughs softly at him. “You are so dramatic.”_

_“And what you told me was not dramatic.” Tom tries to smile._

_It is the right thing to say because Harry looks better than he had before. He leans into Tom and he can feel his skin prickle by the sensation. The closeness dream world or not makes his body hum. “I am sorry you had to see me that way,” Harry whispers and it tickles his ear._

_“It’s natural to show weaknesses all things considered.” Tom straightens up.”One can hardly blame you.”_

_“Where would we run.” Harry says softly. His breath heats along Tom’s neck._

_Tom feels his hairs rise by the action. He leans his head into Harry’s hyper-aware of the way the other stills but then lets him. “Anywhere we want.” Tom smiles largely anywhere that they wouldn’t think to look. We will become stronger than him, and if we need to we can find the rest of his soul.”_

_He has no idea where this confidence has come from. Perhaps the idea has come from that terrible one about believing in silly things. He can’t possibly protect them nor know what was to happen should they run into Voldemort of his little followers again._

_Harry smiles at him as if humoring the idea. “Let’s run then Tom._

~/*\~

Tom plans out their route. Harry is not great at long distance apparition, he can not take them to places that he has never been, though he can with a picture visualize the place close enough to make the leap. Apparition of that distance winds Harry, so they have to be particular about where they appear. It takes several weeks and jumps to make it safely to Germany. Tom has tried to control himself but the months are wearing on him. Harry openly touches him, invades his space, drives him wild. They have known each other for nearly five months and Tom knows that there is little that he would not do for the other. 

He has nearly lost Harry to Muggles, who thought to try and use guns. They have brief brushes with snatchers that they have been able to outwit. It makes him more paranoid and hyper-aware of the world around them. He has to be vigilant. Harry is decent at noticing things, but he doesn’t have a sense for it like Tom. Tom has a knife and he is not above using it. 

The landscape wraps around them as they touch down near a small town. Harry stumbles and holds onto him. Tom makes sure that he doesn’t fall. Wrapping his arm around Harry, and trying not to think too hard about the way that they are pressed together, nor the way that Harry smells like cheap hotel soap. 

“Tom.” Harry leans into him, he is tired. He is drained from getting them here. He at least managed the landing and they did not land in any sort of ditch or fall several feet onto the pavement this time. Tom really should have been grateful, but he still is wary of their sidealongs and not exactly willing to praise it yet. 

He gets them to the nearest hotel that he can spot. The chill of fall air is sweeping down from the north, and it will rain soon. The lobby to the small motel is well kept, and there is a woman that watches them from the desk with slightly judgmental eyes. Tom knows how it looks. He knows that the other looks far too friendly with him. He has started to note that just like in his time if anything were to happen between them that it would not be socially acceptable. He has resigned himself to that fact and he surprisingly enough doesn’t care about how others would view it. If he was happy and Harry then it would not matter. 

But he is not delusional enough to even hope that Harry will replicate his feelings. Potter is many things, oblivious and thick headed are the main things though. It matters how little Tom tries to show him, tries to do small advances without embarrassing himself. Harry never takes the hints. 

“I’ll get us a room, Harry.” He smiles reassuringly. “My friend is diabetic.” He explains to the woman at the counter. Tom pauses in dragging their trunk behind him. 

She nods suddenly very vigorously in understanding. “Please.” She says in particularly broken English. “Sit there, I get him snack. Dewitt, get them checked in.” 

The man speaks worse English than his wife. Tom patiently goes over the books with him. Giving a false name and paying in cash for the room. Harry is near passed out as Ada tries to get him to eat something. Whether Harry likes it or not, it's a good cover for why he clings to Tom shakily after apparition. 

They plan to take trains and other means to get out of Germany. Muggles are easy enough to swindle with enchanted parchment. The problem that will come with their trek is if there were any Ministry checkpoints. Voldemort had made it clear that he had only interests in ruling Great Britain, France, and Irland. He was making his own little pocket of the world and empire. Tom knows that like Hitler that the man’s power and greed would never be satisfied. The other Ministries were in agreeance to send those that they found back to certain death, if it means that they could avoid conflict with the madman a bit longer. 

Harry is near passed out by the time that they make it to their room. He has put on a brave face and Tom helps him to bed and then sits on his own after placing up the appropriate wards. One could never be too careful. He needs his own wand but there are few makers and their best bet is to try the maker in Poland. They were accepting current refugees as they knew what it was like to be completely taken over. 

Still that border would not be an easy one to cross. There were going to be those stationed to send them back. Looking Muggle and blending in was the goal. Harry is a bit harder to blend into his environment. The slight changes have helped, such as the change in glasses, Muggle clothing, and longer hair. But there is still a mark that can not be hidden even under the most powerful of glimmers. Tom has taken to putting Muggle make up over the thing in the mornings they need to move again. The concealer is only one washing charm away, but at least it's not riddled with magic like a homing beacon and begging for someone to see what's hidden there. 

He listens to Harry sleep, slowly slipping to the world of dreams himself after smoking near a whole pack of cigarettes for his nerves. 

~/*\~

“Relax Tom.” Harry laughs softly as the other frets over his hair and scar. The makeup brush that he is using tickles a little. 

“I will not relax.” Tom grits. “This is the most dangerous part of our trip.”

“It's all been dangerous.” Harry points out. “Honestly I am sure that it looks fine by now.” 

“Sit still.” Tom pushes lightly on his shoulders.

“Perfectionist,” Harry mutters.

“Brat.” Tom doesn’t miss a beat. 

“I am older than you.” Harry chuckles. “You should respect me more.”

Tom’s eyes flash with mirth. “I’ll respect you the moment that you stop making foolish decisions.” 

Harry pretends to pout and he can watch Tom’s face change by it. He rubs at his eyes and runs his free hand through his black curled hair. His brown eyes are not leaving his green. 

“Don’t give me that look, I am doing this to keep us both safe.” Tom’s voice settles on the one that sounds like he is trying to be an adult. He is almost there, a month and he would be of age. Harry tries not to think about how it's been just the two of them for so long. They are now a team, they fall in step together. Harry feels like he has known Tom all his life, and that nothing else matters. Sometimes though he wishes that Tom was not so stubborn and protective at times. He is not supposed to, he supposes be enjoying their route through Europe but he can’t help but wish they could pause a bit, enjoy the way that the cities are built, talk with other people. 

“That and you like dressing me,” Harry smirks. 

Tom's face heats and he won't deny it. Harry has noticed the way the other now will seek out touch more than he was before. He did not mind it. He liked it in many ways. Tom took care of him, and Harry always did the same. Lately, Tom has shown a much more possessive side and Harry is not as fond of it. It is strange to him and he is unsure how far to read into it. Harry has to be the first friend that Tom has ever had, and it's natural for him to be jealous and obsessive over someone that has taken to caring about him. Harry just hopes that if he ever sees his friends again that Tom can be persuaded to share. 

“We need to get going or we will miss the train.” Tom turns from him and washes his hands. Harry sends the things into the bag with a flick of his wand. Everything is packed and they look presentable. Perfectly normal. They would need to pick up clothes again that suit the area that they will be traveling to soon. They needed more winter clothes, they could not charm the things they had and hope to blend in. Tom draws on their suitcase where the name tag would go a few wards that will disguise the magic used to shrink everything to fit inside. 

~/*\~

The train station is hopping with Muggles. Tom watches the area around them carefully. His eyes carefully moving along the faces of those around them. He makes sure to map exits and places there would be too many witnesses to use magic. His grip is tight on their suitcase. Harry’s is tight on his wand that is tucked under the many layers of clothes. People pass them paying them no mind. The decor in the station is red and gold. Tom is reminded that it is that time of year again. 

He never was a fan of Christmas and the holidays though Yule did have certain power associated with it. It reminds him of lonely nights at the orphanage, and people being more cheery then normal over the idea of family. How many people thought that they would give small things like socks and feel better because they helped those that were so unfortunate?

Harry notices the scowl plastered on his face. “Careful your face will stick that way if you keep that up.” 

“So people have told me.” Tom rolls his eyes. “I think it would help however in scaring people off.”

“But not me.” Harry hums approvingly. “I think you look cute that way.” 

Tom’s face heats. “Really?” He asks trying not to show how much that affected him. 

“Yes, like a little kid.” Harry chuckled as Tom shoved at him hard. 

~/*\~

The train ride is long, but Harry enjoys just reading and relaxing. The music that their car could play is comforting. He can almost forget that they are on the run. He signs tired as they get off behind borders. Poland has a small magical community, and they know thanks to Tom where to go. They do get a little turned around but the map they have is enchanted and the path is lit up for them on the quiet street.

“Were being followed.” Tom leans into him. Harry knows better to turn. He pretends like Tom is saying the most interesting thing, while adjusting their map. 

“Cloaks?” Harry asks.

“No.” Tom acknowledges and gives Harry cover to draw his wand. 

“Muggle.” Harry deduces, catches sight of the men that are trying to slink up to them. 

“Most likely,” Tom agrees, “be ready there are four of them.” 

Harry really wishes that people would just let them be. But they are practiced for these sorts of situations. Robbers seemed to love young teens that were traveling. Harry hopefully can stun them before Tom does anything too brutal. 

“Lost.” One man says. He seems to be attempting English which is decent of him, really. 

“No.” Tom hisses a translation spell. “It's best that you leave us be.”

“Defensive.” The one man smiles at the other. “We’re just interested in helping you find your way. These are dangerous parts after all.”

“Lucky for us, we're dangerous individuals,” Tom warns, and knowing him it’s the only one that they are likely to get. They of course laugh and make moves to grab possible weapons.

Tom sends them back with a quick brush of his hand. It throws them hard into the nearby building’s brick wall. Where he holds them, dangling and kicking nothing but air. Harry stuns them, just so Tom won’t find it necessary to crack ribs with the pressure it takes to hold them flush with the brick. Harry isn’t one for excessive violence. He makes quick work of it all. Tom’s eyes glitter, with amusement. He likes the struggle and fear. It makes him feel powerful. Harry knows and Harry tries not to let his skin crawl at the way Tom almost enjoys causing others pain. 

He catches Harry’s look at him. His smile falters. “I didn’t kill them. I didn’t kill the one that held that gun to your head in Germany either.” 

“I know.” Harry grabs their trunk and starts to move. 

“Then why are you looking at me like that.” Tom catches up to him. 

“I understand that you like to display your power, but sometimes... do you not realize that you are excessive?” Harry sidesteps his attempt to latch onto him. 

“They could have hurt you.” Tom insists. 

“Me?” Harry snaps. “Don’t you mean us?” He doesn’t need protection. He is perfectly capable of handling himself. He has done so for the last 17 years of his life. He doesn't need Tom to watch out for him and become sloppy because of it. 

Tom's face shows his confusion, before hardening. “Yes, both of us could be hurt, but you’re the one that accident prone.”

Harry hissed. “I’m not nearly as careless as you claim me to be. If anything your inability to keep your emotions in check causes more issues than not.” Harry rounded on him. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way that you look at me or try to scare others away. You don’t need to do that. I don’t want it.”

Tom sets his jaw, his fingers digging into his palms. “And how is it you think I look at you?”

“Like I am not enough, that you need to protect me. I am not a child nor am I some trinket to be guarded or concealed. We both know how _Both_ of you like to collect things.”

“Don’t compare us.” Tom looks wounded for a split second before he feels like fire. Grabbing onto him so that he can’t get free unless he pries him off. Which he does try. 

“I know unlike him when to stop. I know it can’t be mine. Even if I want to own your heart, it's not something that I can take.” Tom’s broken, desperate voice makes him still. 

Harry is caught completely off guard. “What.” 

He blinks and doesn’t think that his eyes can get any wider even if he was an owl. 

“You have to know. Don’t you see..? You can’t be that blind, not to see what you're doing to me” Tom’s eyes are pleading and weak. “I care about you.”

The way he says it, Harry knows he means so much more than he just cares. 

“Your stupid Avada eyes have haunted me since that day when I found we were the same. I can’t stop thinking about you and the hurt that another part of me caused you. I didn’t even mean it. I was lost, confused, and I created things never to face death. I was scared.” The hands holding him are shaking. “I am still scared. I’m not good at this.” 

His head is bent and he puts it to Harry’s chest. Harry can feel the other hair under his chin. Tom makes a sound that is horrible and he knows the other is trying not to break down. 

“Tom,” Harry says softly. 

“I’ve had feelings for you for quite some time now. I know it's wrong, I just can’t help myself. I just don’t know how to express it. I lash out and try to distance myself. All I do is hurt the both of us… I’m sorry. I am so sorry, don't you see. I don’t apologize.” Tom is angry at himself. He is near slipping into parcel and his grip has become near crushing on his shoulders. 

Harry drops the handle to their trunk slowly bringing his hands up around the other. “No, you don’t.” He agrees. He could laugh at himself because he must have looked incredibly foolish, but he had no answer. He didn’t know how to respond. “I…” He flounders for a better answer. 

“You don’t have to say anything, or return the feelings. Just forgive me, forgive me for my weakness. I can’t have you hate me too.” He looks up at Harry with shining brown eyes. They look like fallen stars. Harry can’t bring himself to look away. “Please, don’t leave me alone in this time. I can push it down. I can ignore it. We can pretend it never happened.”

“I don’t want to pretend it never happened,'' Harry cleared his throat. He feels like he needs a drink of water horribly. Tom tries to pull away and Harry grips him harder, to keep him close. “What you feel isn’t a sin. You have nothing to be sorry for. I am glad you told me. It’s better than you thinking I am not enough.” 

Tom coughs. “Your perfect Harry.” 

“Far from it actually.” Harry corrects him. “But it's nice to hear you think highly of me.” He reaches up and holds the other’s face with his hand. He can feel the hot wet streaks of tears. He wipes at one and Tom closes his eyes, leaning into the touch like a cat, and reaches up a hand to grip Harry’s wrist. 

Being Gryffindor and brave Harry dares to kiss him, pulling the others' faces closer to his and pressing his lips to Tom’s. It requires tiptoes. He is unpracticed only kissed a girl 3 times in his entire life and one had not been consensual. He knows it's hard, forceful, and hardly something that could feel all that great with how sloppy it is. Tom’s eyes fly open and Harry tries to pull away only for Tom to kiss him back just as roughly and it suddenly doesn’t seem all that bad to be unpracticed and skilled. It steals air and Harry relaxes into it, closing his eyes. 

It's wet, hot, and followed by a hungry open mouth, lips trying to swallow lips. 

Its Hands… traveling curves with intent, gripping lightly, but with force. It’s encouraging, kneading, pleading, controlling… Leaving him near breathless and wanting. Soft skin and hard muscles, their two bodies tentative, but with growing insistence. Caressing lightly at first but searching for ways to shape themselves into each other, to inhabit, to indulge, to become. Passion… Tom has it for everything and this is no exception. Breaking off is difficult, his mind stunned, his head light with vertigo like he has just appearated. In that whirlwind, he manages to think to himself that being loved by this one person might be all that he needs or could ever want. He doesn’t feel bad for running away with Tom. Life can be so much more than what it has been. 

“We need to find a place to stay.” Harry manages. 

Tom nods stupidly, but his face is brighter than Harry has ever seen it. He is so smug. The cat that for sure got the cream, but Harry has no want to wipe the look off of his face. He knows that he is grinning just as wide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these dorks ＾▽＾


	13. A Rocky Relationship

“We need to set boundaries,” Harry says the moment that they have a room. It’s a small one and they are going to have to sneak out in the morning. The Muggles will not remember that they had guests in this room. He bites his lip, not exactly comfortable changing next to the other anymore. Tom doesn’t seem bothered though, much like the locker room Harry averts his eyes. 

Tom looked like he knew this was coming. He seems interested in at least getting comfortable for it. Harry decides to follow suit. Meaning purely that he grabbed clothes and went to the bathroom to change. He takes the far bed and sits down. Pulling up his one leg as he would do to perch on the roof of the school. Flying has always been his escape and he likes to think that he is fine with having this conversation now of all times. His headspace was pretty messed up recently and it feels a little like the relationship he thought he knew had turned on its head. 

“ I have never been in a relationship,” Tom admitted. He was quietly reflective. “I don’t like people. I hate them, you're different though. I don’t despise spending time with you.”

He sits next to him still at the edge that means he is ready to go if Harry tells him to. It's honestly not surprising that Tom has not been. But that means that kiss means a lot to him and Harry had been really just swept up at the moment. No one had ever confessed to him that way before, seemed to care or love him so deeply. 

“I have been in two.” Harry sighed watching Tom gripped at his knee tighter. He obviously doesn’t like the idea. “None of that.” Harry glared at him. “I don’t agree to this if you're going to get upset about competition that doesn’t exist.”

Tom grit his teeth. “It's hard to think about…” He pauses as if to choose his words carefully. “That they could come back into your life.”

He almost sounds like he thinks he isn’t good enough. Tom’s ego is the size of a battleship but it was easily wounded. Easy to see the cracks that are in place now that he has spent so much time with him. False confidence that Harry himself has had to face. Weakness that as a chosen one he feared that others would see through. 

“You don’t have anything to worry about,” Harry assures him. 

Tom doesn’t look taken by this statement. He looks like he is trying to accept it though. “If he was no longer after you would it change?” 

Would it? Harry is sure that should he survive it all that the whole world would be open to him again. People would again send him love potions, and there would be long paragraph letters from those that thought that they could steal him. But Harry has never been drawn in by looks alone. He looked for people that could challenge him, had skills like him. Did not want him to take the role of protector or a savior. Still, in the future, there was a good chance that he would want to still be with Tom. They had been through a lot together.

“One of them is dead.” Harry says gravely “And the other I don’t think it would have worked out.” 

“Ginny.” Tom figured it out in one guess near one second. He looked to the ground and then opened his mouth as if to apologize. Harry put his finger up to the other's lips. He is not sure how to feel about an apologetic Tom. It's almost like it's unnatural. 

“Don’t apologize I don’t want to hear it. I already told you that you didn’t have anything to be sorry for.” Harry knows that the issues he has with Tom, the few things that are darker that lurk in the past have nothing to do with him. He would rather him be sorry for things that were really his fault. “We had broken up a year ago after the war started it wasn’t practical and she would have been a larger target. It didn't matter in the end, did it?”

Tom nodded, kissing the finger lovingly, moving slightly out of the hold so that he could speak. “No, one should not let war get in the way of happiness. World War 2 made many get married young and enjoy the time that they had together.” 

Harry’s face reddened as he took his finger back. Tom’s lips were soft. It’s a strange thing what they are doing. In a twisted way, he can agree. He wanted happiness he had been denying himself. 

Harry never would have thought it possible to really like a boy. Least of all Tom. Sure Cedric was good looking and he would admit that Wood had looked good in his quidditch pants. This though was different. He likes Tom more than physically. It’s so comfortable to be with him. There is not much the other would not understand, unlike his friends. They tried but they did not come from abusive homes. They did not know what it was like up until this year really to be fighting every day for survival because there was no time for anything else. They could not understand his self-hatred or frustration. 

Tom understands on a fundamental level. They have different ways to cope and deal with it all. But he does know what it’s like. Tom had even been tortured and under the cruito. Harry didn’t know anyone else besides Sirius that had felt its bite. 

Tom’s handsome to dark eyes and a thin face. It’s not something he was originally attracted to as it had looked a little too thin. But now he is used to that and the way the other gives slight smiles and his eyes soften when he looks at him. Harry knows love. He has been exposed to familial love with Sirius and Lupin. Even to an extent, he could see Molly and them as his surrogate family. This though is difficult to place. It’s not that butterfly feeling that he had when looking at Chang or the embarrassment he felt around her thinking that she was too pretty for him and out of his league. Cedric in the same vein. It’s different from Ginny too. It’s a deeper connection. A foundation that was built on saving each other’s lives. 

There is risk here though danger that he has always been drawn to. Tom’s love is possessive and could drown him. Breaking it off with Tom should things go south would not be like other relationships that stung for a little. Harry is quite certain that the rejection could ruin them. Tom was such a vengeful vindictive shit that things could spiral out of control quickly. But those eyes and that smile make him feel comfortable and despite it all safe. Tom wouldn’t intentionally hurt him unless Harry really hurt him first. And perhaps that statement was even more ambiguous due to Tom was changing. Changing for him. Apologizing and trying to hold himself back from inflicting his will and want Harry was proof of that. 

Still, them together was all sorts of fucked up. 

“You're overthinking it,” Tom says to him, drawing him from his thoughts. He is not touching Harry but still offering his hand by putting it unnecessarily close. Harry takes the hand offered to him. It’s comforting and he can feel their magic react to each other, feel the bond that they share. 

“I had a lot of time to think of it,” Tom tells him making eye contact. “In my time it would be a sin that would have us both killed or beaten within the last bit of our lives. And while not acceptable in Muggle either in this time, I don’t think it would matter too much in our world. And if it did I would not care.”

He says it with such confidence like he knows what he wants and there will be no going back. It's almost reassuring. 

“You make it all sound so simple.” Harry sighs, he wants to turn his brain off of the what-ifs. The endless questions of himself and such have only gotten worse. 

“Why does it have to be complex? Tom raised an eyebrow. 

Maybe… No, he shakes his head.

“Because of who we are,” Harry explains. “The chosen one and Tom Riddle. There are so many that would want to kill us for the names alone.”

He can name several people off the top of his head. 

“So you don’t want to try is what you are saying? We shouldn’t, because of the possible danger that will be after us regardless?” Tom asks disappointment lines his features and his body language makes Harry know that he is both disappointed but he is also trying to manipulate. It's effective. 

“No, I’m not saying that.” Harry quickly puts that thought to rest. 

“Could have fooled me.” Tom huffed, though his eyes are a bit more playful again. 

“I’m just saying there are a lot of risks.” Harry shoves at him a little. “But we know Voldie will target whoever we choose.”

Tom shakes his head. “He would be sickened by the pick. I don’t think that he has ever felt this way before. I have never felt this for another living thing. So I doubt there is another choice.” Tom folded his arms. 

“He seems to like Bellatrix.” Harry shudders at the idea. 

“Don’t make me picture that.” Tom shakes his head again vigorously as if that would clear it. “I already saw her admiration for him. It’s worship if anything and he feeds on that sort of thing.” 

“Right back to us.” Harry doesn’t want to picture the snake face looking fondly at the follower that would kiss anything he ever touched. 

“Us.” Tom partially purrs hearing that in agreement leaning into him. 

“Boundaries, we both need them.” Harry practically squeaks but will deny if anyone ever asked. 

“Whatever you want.” Tom agrees instantly, smiling at him. 

“You have to have a say. I know you would not be happy nor satisfied with anything I came up with alone.” Harry sighs deeply, recovering quickly. 

“You do know me.” Tom was quite pleased with that. 

“Yes and if we’re a couple. We are a team.” Harry meets his eyes and it sends a bit of warmth through him. How nice was it to have a teammate that was not counting on him to carry everything? 

“Partners.” Tom agrees. “Equals.”

Harry flushed, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “You can’t just say stuff like that. Godric.”

“You want me to call it something else?” Tom pretends to misinterpret the situation. “I would not want anyone that could not be at my level.” 

“Smug bastard.” Harry shakes his head. “Wouldn’t consider anyone higher than you?” 

“Of course not, Harry, none exist.” Tom plays right into it. 

~/*\~

It's not easy to set up boundaries. They both are the sort to break rules. Tom knows that he never liked falling in line. It needs to be done though. They would waste a lot of time and energy angry at each other if there wasn’t something in place. Old wounds that could open accidentally in Harry’s case. Tom could curse the other. It would be ugly. They both know it. Tom can be patient. He is quite good at the long game. He had done so through all his life at Wools and at Hogwarts. 

This is not something he can trick his way into or through. There are too many emotions, needs, and wants tied up in it. They take it slow or as slow as two people that have never really been in love before and were stranded in a warzone could take it. Harry lets him touch his hand and hug his side. It's enough for now. Small kisses are on the table, and pretty much what they have been doing. It just has a label on it now that it did not have before. Tom doesn’t know when it will stop being enough. It's in him to always want more. Having nothing all his life causes him to covet things that he does not have. And he is thinking about things that he shouldn’t, his imagination full of things to do with the other. Things that he wants to come to fruition. A few hours ago he would have considered all these things fantasies like the idea that Harry can ever feel anything for him. 

He doesn’t know how sold Harry is on the idea of loving him. Harry cares for him, Tom knows that. But he is not sure that Harry loves him yet. Yet being the keyword. Tom knows that Harry isn’t something to win nor a prize to covet. Tom changing to treat Harry that way is a one-way ticket to him trying to pull away. Some possessiveness was fine, but Harry wouldn’t have him chasing others away. 

Tom can be protective though, it's what has kept them alive so far. When he has a wand it will be easier. 

“We should sleep.” Harry lays back moving his glasses to the dresser. Tom goes to stand and Harry grips his arm. “Stay.” 

He doesn’t have to be told twice. It's been odd not sleeping as close as when they were in the tent. Harry moves closer to him. He grabs onto his hand pulling him closer so he could have his arm. 

“I’m not a pillow.” Tom lets it be known. He knows that this will not be comfortable for a long time, even if he likes the attention and trust this action shows. 

“Shhh.” Harry closed his eyes. “Pillows don’t talk.” 

“What were we saying about boundaries again?” Tom chuckled, running a hand up Harry’s side. The other struggled because Harry is ticklish and Tom will show him no mercy. “I don’t think it covered being demoted to a pillow.” 

“It's a promotion.” Harry huffs calming down. “We need to sleep.” 

Tom sighs letting Harry relax again. He knows that they have a long day ahead of them. 

~/*\~

The wizarding world was hidden in the Polish hills and mountains. Hidden in thick woods and roads not traveled. The small communities were out of reach from their Muggle neighbors though they did not all hide out of sight. Just like in Britain there were many Witches and Wizards that ventured in and out of the Muggle world bringing those that they loved with them. It took them weeks to find the place as it was far more difficult than they imagined when they first mapped things out. 

In the old days, they used to be able to light large fires high into the sky in honor of the sabbaths. The ceremonial rocks are carved into interesting peaks with natural sea stone formations. Natural and beautiful as all land was to be. Tom knows that places that are older, with older trees and earth, show the most magical properties. It was why so many magical herbs and plants could be found in such locations. The old Wizards and Witches knew this, and so they would pay respects feeding the natural magic and strengthening wards. The leaders of different districts would drink from sacred chalices and the most powerful would spill their blood to continue the protective spells. Yes, they were in contact with the things that lived in the forests, some things that were extinct now and resembled demons. But Tom would be damned if there really were such things. Most things were only dark to those that did not understand them and he was sure that it was mostly superstitious Muggles that had distorted the stories to the ones that were printed about near the old cites. It was a blessing in a way some of the superstitions were in place. It kept people from finding the real under the fantasy. 

Harry had said his mother had protected him with blood as Tom waxed excitedly about the history. He was of course told that he reminded Harry of Hermione for his efforts, but as Harry did not seem to mind Tom kept talking about the tales that he had heard. 

The wards were strong and once they were through Tom was sure that no one would remember that there could have been two boys that went up for a hike. They would stop whispering about unnatural or too friendly. Tom would not be tempted to murder them or curse them to oblivion. Harry’s hand on his is all that keeps him from this. A force of good to help ground him. Control the devil that he thinks dwells within himself. One that he wrestles to try and be normal enough. 

Harry gives his arm one more squeeze as they separate not knowing if they would be accepted here in the wizarding world either and they need supplies that the other world can not provide. 

“You can’t see my scar, right?” Harry nervously checks with him as they make their way closer to the small town. It reminds Tom of Hogsmeade. There are a few witches and wizards out and about doing their normal every day. They look at them intrigued by perhaps their lack of Wizarding attire, but don’t seem too bothered by it. 

“No sign of it,” Tom confirms looking at him and watching the people around them out of the corner of his eye. 

“New.” Someone said moving past them and nodding as if they approved of seeing younger blood in their village. One of the older women smiled broadly at them and waved. She had a lot of plants loaded on a small cart. 

“Neville would have liked these,” Harry says sadly as he inspects them and then turns to the woman and starts to ask her about potion ingredients. It takes a bit but they do get instructions to the places that they need to go. Harry also gets some Tea leaves out of his interaction with the older women. 

Charming she had called him. Tom had turned his on a bit to get the potion ingredients and cauldron at a discounted price. He is grateful that Harry has a decent amount of gold on him. He doesn't think that they could get away with swindling these people when there were such powerful enchantments in place and the ground practically sung of the stuff. He will get the best deals possible but he isn’t going to steal anything other than perhaps a few hearts that he doesn’t want. 

~/*\~

The midday stop is the wand shop. It is located towards the boundaries of the wards. Harry is not exactly sure what to expect. The woman they spoke to at the small tavern explained that getting a wand completed by the man was quite the ordeal. She waved away the questions that he had after that to one had to experience Bogden to really understand. 

They did not have to rush off to anyplace. Poland for the most part was safe and out of Death Eater clutches. But Harry did not have limitless gold for expenses. In theory, they could set up some sort of life in this country and not run all the way to Asia as they had originally thought. Tom could be of use as there seemed to be a great deal of serpents and a few known Baskalisks that had made their homes here. Harry had always thought the profession of curse breaking and monster regulation to be a field of interest if being in Magical Law enforcement had failed. He isn’t so interested in working for the ministry and wrangling people that are supposed to be Dark by the government's standards.

Tom could deal with the more delicate Charm work and Harry could do what he did best; a little bit of fighting danger, and saving people. The fantasy is cut off as they make their way up to a house that really looks more like a cabin used for wood cutting. 

The man that greets them looks like he is a thousand years old. His skin is wrinkly and his eyes have lost sparkle. He hardly looks welcoming. He is watching them from his palace on his porch. Harry double-checks the address as Tom moves up the way. 

“I was told that I could have a wand made here.” Tom cuts right to the chase. 

The old man looks him up and down and then looks over at Harry. “Perhaps.” His voice is thick with an accent but he is able to speak English it seems so that will be useful at the very least. “Come we shall see inside.”

The wards wrap around them and Harry can tell there is no apparition in this space. 

“Protection for the wood and tools.” The old man's deep voice answers the question before Harry can think to ask it. “You’re not from here.” 

“No, we’re not,” Tom answers the unsaid question but doesn’t give a location. 

“Where?” Bogden is looking towards their arms and Harry knows what he is referring to. 

“We are from Britain,” Harry admits. “We're running from them. Tom’s wand was lost in the process.” 

He nods, stroking his beard and he moves to a counter that is set up. It looks like a bar but instead of housing wine or drinks, there are many tools that hand and boxes that look to be for ingredients. “Wand making is art. It takes time, coin.” 

“We have coins and Time,” Tom assures the man. 

“What wand did you have before?” He sets out some instruments, some of them for measuring the others for drawing. He motions for them to sit on the stools in front of him. 

“Yew with a phoenix feather core.” Tom sits. 

“Made by?” Bogden asks without looking up.

“Ollivander.” 

“Never liked him, makes wands, and has them wait for their owner. I make wand for user. You could have changed since first meeting wand.” 

“And how long does this usually take?” Tom asks carefully. 

“Long as it takes to suit needs.” Bogden holds out his hand and Tom tilts his head offering his wand hand as the man takes measurements. “Wand needs to be long . 13 inches or longer, 33 centimeters if you prefer.” 

The man runs his hands over Tom’s palm as if reading it. He cups his wrist and turns it over. He looks again at Tom and then at Harry. “I will design later. You will pick the wood now.” 

“Pick?” Tom blinks. 

“Yes, there is a test. You will go out and select wood.” Tom is practically yanked up and Harry shakes his head slightly amused by the man's insistence.

~/*\~

Tom really should not allow this man to yank him about, but the prospect of a wand that is suited to him is something that he can not help but want. He doesn’t think that there is anything besides his own wand that would feel right in his hand. He stands around the forest that is vast. 

“Go find wood.” The man instructs.

“How will I know?” Tom is not one to go and do things without a plan.

“You will know,” Bogden responds. “You will feel it.” 

Tom looks to Harry, but the other just shrugs. Tom grits his teeth, Harry is probably just glad that he is not the one that has to deal with this. 

“Keep eyes to yourself. He can not help you.” 

This is ridiculous. Tom moves between the closest trees; they all seem as good as any, healthy trees. Pines that tower over him and Oaks that have the thickest trunks that he has ever seen. There are smaller maples and Aspen. He finds none of them to be more interesting than the others. He sighs, he knows little about plants. He had not spent more time researching botany more than he needed to. There were trees that were more magical than others. 

He knows A long time ago, in Northern Europe, pine trees, firs, were decorated to celebrate the birth of Frey, the Norse god of the sun, at the end of the year. The tops of the trees were lit because in winter the days were shorter. Northern people thought that by doing so the light will attract the sun. The old ways have died. But still, pines remained at Hogwarts decorating the great hall. A testament to long-forgotten traditions, that were outed by a God that he doesn't believe in. One that deemed him a devil’s child. He looks closer at the pines. He rather hates these trees. They are practically thee symbol of Christmas time and Yule. He had spent many Yule nights alone. He had no gifts to give, nor to receive. All those in his house went home to loving families. Purebloods had parties to attend, balls to host, and all the finer things that could be enjoyed. 

He is not alone anymore. He has Harry and for the first time in his life, he has someone to spend his holidays with. He has a future to look forward to. Hopes, dreams, and a nice feeling he is starting to recognize as happiness. The idea fills him with slight warmth despite the chill to the air. He brushes the snow off the needles. Feeling through his gloves the slight pokey appendages. There are small pine cones still on the underside of the branch he touches. 

“You have chosen.” Bagden was behind him and he had not noticed the other. 

“I dislike pines.” Tom drops the branch and it moves back to position. 

“You would not have stopped so long to consider if this was not your choice.” The wandmaker takes out a small pair of trimmers and snips the branch that Tom had been touching. He holds it up with weathered hands and Tom can see the faint traces of movement in the needles. It is like there is light magic trapped inside of it. “Come you must pick a core now.” 

The inside of the cabin is warm and Tom feels the heat the second that he steps inside. He looks to see Harry talking with an older woman that must have been Bagden’s wife. Harry acknowledges him with a nod and a smile motioning him over. 

“Ania was showing me her wand.” Harry holds up a wand that looks much like it still has a wild side to it. It is not nearly as polished and refined as his old wand. 

“Wands that are built from magical trees and left less finished are a reminder of where they came from,” Ania explains. “They retain some of their natural magic then, most wandmakers are too absorbed in the craft to notice the slight shift they make that kills the wood. They stain it, polish it, and carve away the meanings of the trees. The years that it shows, and the growth it went through.” 

Tom holds out his hand and he feels along the treated wood. The wand is not loyal to him, he can feel its resistance and it’s strength. “Does your wand have a light creature’s core?” Tom asks not feeling such strong resistance since touching Abraxas’s unicorn hair wand. It had not been fond of the darkness that it saw in Tom. Abraxas was a horrible person, but he was not exactly evil. 

“Yes and oak for I am strong and resilient as an oak.” Ania smiles proudly, taking her wand back. “Yours will be pine. Flexible wood pines show wisdom, longevity, peace, and hope. Natural in magic used to invoke the spirits of woods and nature. It will serve you well and faithfully.”

“Yes, dear wife.” Bagden kisses her cheek. “She will be the one to help you find your core.” 

“Sit dear boy, the tea leaves and your palm will do.” She holds out a cup. “Drink slowly.” 

Bagden moves to stoke the fire. “No matter the place, Pine is a special tree. It is featured in many legends for its ability to bring about love, hope, inspiration. A manly tree and powerful. I have carved most furniture from it. It is soft yet durable and its resin is useful for turpentine. Your wand will have a good natural finish. Do not think I did not catch your disapproval of our wand ways. We are not like you in Britain. Fearful of any core outside of Unicorn and Dragon heart or scale.” 

Ania smiles lovingly at her husband. “Our people believe that pine holds the secret of fire.” Her eyes dance and Tom takes a sip of the warm tea. It's good and sweet and he feels warmed thoroughly.

Harry is fascinated, memorized by the couple. “What other tales can you tell that involve pines, besides those that are associated with Yule and the Christian holiday?” 

“We use them in the cleansing of areas around here. Burnt bark mixed with frankincense is used to purify the rooms of the sick or after disputes. You may wish to try it should you find yourselves fighting. Frightens the dark spirits. I recommend using it in natural wards. The resin can be mixed with sage and mint or lemon to purify ourselves before or after a ritual, but also to purify places.” 

Tom holds out his cup to her and she inspects it. Old eyes that stare transfixed on the leaves. She holds out her old hand without saying a word. She looks over his palm and is silent for a long time. Tom is half tempted to rip his hand away from her the way that she cresses it. 

“Fate has not smiled upon you, harsh has been your life.” She sounds sorry for him. He has always hated it when someone looks at him like that. He tries to take his hand back but she holds tight for an old woman. “You have deep wounds and regrets. Your path has been dark, and unforgiving.”

She traces the deeper lines on his palm. “Your core is stained, fractured even. Picking a core for you shall be difficult.” She lets him take his hand back. “What matters most to you, young man?” 

Tom blinked. “That is a very weighted question.” Not something that he has thought too hard about. There is one answer that pushes past all the others. “Power.”

~/*\~

Yes, it should not be surprising that is what Tom Riddle of all people desires. Harry can not help but find himself disappointed. It was only slightly better he supposed than immortality. 

“The reasons have changed.” Tom is holding onto the empty cup in front of him looking at the leaves shape that reminds Harry of a snake, a larger one. “I once craved it to be someone, to stand above those that pushed me down, held me down. I wanted to make them suffer.” 

His brown eyes glisten in the firelight. The world outside is darkening and the room is bathed in the glow of Bogden’s fire. 

“Now I want power to protect myself and the one that I care for,” Tom says it quietly as if it is something to be ashamed of. “I don’t wish to cause others torment just the power to end them should they try to take what I value most.” 

“Young Love,” Ania says as if it is the most beautiful thing in the world. “I know what core suits you. She stands and brings out a small box. “Acromantula web. It is rare and precious, the silk unlike any that you will encounter. Thin but strong, the spiders are as creative and crafty as they come. Dangerous and temperamental, vicious.” She narrows her eyes as she holds the box out and the string reacts. It glows faint blue near Tom’s hand. “It is Perfect for defensive and offensive spells. Good for dark curses, and darker magics that reflect your core. It will be volatile as the beasts that it came from, but as you know yourself, your nature, and have come to resist parts of it, you should be able to wield it.” 

~/*\~

The wand takes a week to complete it near black with the natural stains. The wrappings are leather to provide a grip, the wood twists as it reaches the top, it is like two snakes that are fighting. Forever coiling and wrestling light verse dark. The wand is not like his old. It feels different in his hand. It has personality, as he can feel it react to him. It has long been won over, it is powerful, magic flows through it in a counterbalance to the wood. Pine purifies and the web darkens. His wand is able to find a middle ground, much like Tom is trying to find within himself for what he is and who he is. They are two different things. He definitely feels powerful using it. Harry tells him his wand feels weird to hold. The web doesn’t agree with his core and Tom knows that is because Harry’s core is like the sun warm and only can agree with the pine of it. 

They are to travel with the promise of work in a far off village near the border of Ukraine. Ania has family there that would be happy to have those willing to help run her mailing service. It's not great work, they will not be doing it forever, but there is some promise of coin. They are in need of that, and who knows if there could be old magic to study that might help them with the Voldemort situation. It seems that they have left an impression on the old couple. Harry had helped Ania with some of the housework and Tom had made an effort to help Bogden with some of the more heavy liftings. 

“I think I will miss them,” Harry says leaning into Tom and he sucks in a breath feeling his heart speed a little. He likes this closeness and Harry has been more receptive to his touch since he had caught him talking with Ania late into the night. “Never really had grandparents but I feel like that would be how they were like.” 

“They would have been ideal to be raised by. It is sad they could not have children. The art of their craft may end with them.” He says sympathetically 

Harry gripped harder on his arm. “I know and it’s sad.” 

Tom presses his head onto Harry's and lays a small kiss there. Harry relaxes into him. That wonderful warm feeling makes him smile despite the sadness that Harry seems to feel. 

~/*\~

They take the train again to avoid unwanted attention. The countryside is beautiful and Harry would like to reside here. He is really considering it. Forgetting everything that he knows and those in Britain and just learning all he can about the world around him. He still thinks curse-breaking could be fun, but there is a simplicity in something like wand-making that he is a little envious of. 

He lets Tom sleep on him in their private car. It's warm, near too warm. But Harry has grown even fonder of the dark-haired wizard and would let him rest. Ania had given him helpful advice in being more accepting of his feelings. He can see the effort that Tom puts in, for what it is now. That protective nature is not because Tom thinks any less of him. No, it's his desire to keep them safe. Harry appreciates it, knows not to try and curb it all the time. It was insulting perhaps to Tom that Harry didn't desire his protection. It was like denying his help and there was little else that Tom at the moment could offer. So Harry only tones down his obsessiveness when it is ill-suited for the situation. Tom was always fussing when they were moving around, watchful, fearful. He was like a snake that has been coiled too long. He needed his rest, as he would not relax again till they had set up in their new location under a thick blanket of wards. 

"Tom." He gently pushes against him. "We are arriving." 

Tom squeezes him tighter and opens his eyes slowly, annoyed that he needs to be up. "It better not be a long walk." He mutters. 

"I can always apparate us closer." 

"No." Tom denies, seemingly more awake than before. "You did not sleep so that I could. You will not burn yourself out or risk botching the jump." 

Near the Village and are stopped by a supposed random check. The officers take one look at Harry and he knows, he just knows that this is going to go south really fast. Those eyes are not the eyes of someone that wants to help; they are the type that look greedy. Tom notices it too, his hand is itching to draw his wand.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, feedback, questions, and Kudos are always welcome and greatly appreciated. It lets me know to continue writing :D


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